


The Calm and the Storm

by pure1magination



Series: Pirate AU [2]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Fantastic Four, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst and Feels, Asgardian mermaids, Blow Jobs, Hydra (Marvel), Implied Sexual Content, Kidnapping, Love at First Sight, Multi, Pirates, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 07:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 35,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3602043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pure1magination/pseuds/pure1magination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edwin Jarvis has been informed that somewhere out there, Howard Stark is still alive. In a panic, he asks anyone and everyone to help him find the missing inventor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The sky was just as dark of a blue as the sea. A lantern bobbed over the waves, suspended over a small lifeboat. “We’ve got company,” said Dottie, a weird thrill in her voice.

“So we do,” agreed Natalia. “How long should we wait?”

“On my signal…” Dottie said, clutching the guard rail as the lifeboat was tossed nearer to them. Three figures were visible in the boat; one was rowing, one was hunched over, and the third was sitting on the bottom of the lifeboat, bound and gagged and blindfolded.

Natalia frowned. “Wait—I think we _know_ them,” she stated with mild surprise.

Dottie leaned farther over the railing. She gasped. “We do!” she said breathlessly. She called out the order, and the woman at the helm turned the Leviathan so the lifeboat was approaching their starboard side. They threw down some ropes and helped the trio aboard.

“Doctor Ivchenko!” Dottie exclaimed, hugging him. “How good it is to see you!”

“Zola,” greeted Natasha less enthusiastically, arms crossed over her chest.

“Natalia,” Zola returned with a creepy little smile.

Dottie gasped. “Is this Howard Stark?!” she exclaimed, kneeling in front of the blindfolded man who had unceremoniously been dumped on the floor of the Leviathan. _“The_ Howard Stark?!” Her eyes shone with admiration as she grinned up at Ivchenko.

“The very same,” Doctor Ivchenko agreed.

“It’s such an honor to meet you!” Dottie exuded, taking off Howard’s blindfold with unnecessary force. She glanced up at Zola and Ivchenko. “Did you get any of his inventions?”

“Ah.. no,” admitted Ivchenko. “We were on our way to do so, but our ship was.. destroyed.”

Dottie’s eyebrows came together over her eerily wide eyes. “Destroyed?” she said with a pout in her voice.

“Yes,” agreed Zola, “but I managed to save the three most valuable people on-board.”

“So you know where they are?” she asked, turning her eyes on Howard, then at Ivchenko and Zola.

“I’m afraid not,” admitted Ivchenko.

Dottie cocked her head to the side. “You don’t?”

“No,” Ivchenko affirmed. “But, _he_ does.”

Dottie’s wide eyes turned back on Howard. Howard frowned at the four of them like they were crazy.

“We’ll get it out of him,” Natalia stated with cold confidence.

“He just needs,” said Ivchenko, “to _focus…_ ”

* * *

“I need you to focus,” said Tony, annoyed with the ever-infatuated Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. They were making gooey eyes at each other  _again_ .

“Sorry,” apologized Steve, smiling bashfully.

“I’m not,” volunteered Bucky, kissing Steve’s cheek and nibbling down his neck.

Tony pinched his forehead. “Okay seriously? I need you to _not_ do that. What were you, raised in a barn?”

“How d’you think I got the last name _Barnes?”_ Bucky quipped before nipping Steve’s collarbone.

Tony held out his hands to block his vision. “You two are disgusting!”

“They’re just happy, Tony,” Peggy teased.

“No. You see Bruce and Clint being all buddy-buddy in the crow’s nest? _That_ is being happy. _This_ is an indecent public display of affection.”

“Like you have any room to criticize,” rejoined Pepper.

“Oh no. No. I am _not_ taking love advice from Mrs. God-of-the-Sea.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “His name is Thor, and he’s _not_ god of the sea.”

“And we are not yet married!” boomed Thor, who was standing proudly at the helm.

“Right,” Pepper added, “that too.”

Tony stared at the sky for strength. Not that he believed there was anything up there besides atmospheric particles, and beyond that, millions of miles of space and galaxies and stars and stuff.

“-Wait,” Pepper said, turning to Thor, “What do you mean ‘yet’?”

“Enough!” Tony swiped his hands wide in a cutting-off motion. “You are supposed to be guiding us to this magical port of yours!”

“It’s not magical,” Steve interjected.

Tony sighed loudly. “Whatever! This port! With all the bars and the free women,” (Tony waggled his eyebrows to emphasize ‘free’ and ‘women’) “and the _food and water that we are almost out of._ Where is it? Peggy doesn’t remember! _You’re_ supposed to know where we’re going!”

Steve had the decency to look guilty. He reluctantly disentangled himself from Bucky, who chased after him and was met with even more reluctant resistance, and wound up winding his arms around Steve’s waist. It was difficult for Steve to walk like this, but he did his best.

Tony jabbed a finger at his map. “We are _here._ Where is your port?”

Steve cautiously pointed to a spot on the map.

Tony sighed, patience frayed. “There’s no _land_ there.”

“Yes there is,” Steve said quietly. “But you have to approach it from this angle.” He demonstrated on the map with his finger. “The dock is hidden from shore. It’s in a lagoon, just inland, past some coral reefs.”

“I’ve been there,” Bucky said in an unnecessarily low, husky voice, nuzzling the crook of Steve’s neck. “It exists.”

“Thanks for all your help,” Tony said sarcastically. He swaggered over to Thor and gave him navigational directions, all of which were met with furrowed brows and blank eyes, until Tony pointed and said, “Go _that way_ until I say so.”

Thor nodded seriously, smiled, and headed _that way._

* * *

Marge Cartinelli shed her scrubs for the day, and with them, her nametag.

“Ah,” said the doctor in his kind, level voice. “Another day done.”

Marge smiled at the tall, bespectacled man as she slipped on her coat. “Yep. One long day done, and another one’s gonna start tomorrow.”

He nodded in acquiescence. “They’re all long, in their own way. But today, I am glad.”

“Because they all lived?” Marge guessed.

He nodded again. “Because they all lived. Not a single death today. That makes it the third day this week,” he said, slipping out of his white lab coat. “I think that is cause for celebration.”

“What kind of celebration are we talkin’ here?” asked AnnMarie, a tall woman with prematurely whitening hair, a southern accent, and a curious habit of always wearing gloves. She removed a pair of rubber gloves and exchanged them for a yellow pair that she kept in her coat.

“I was thinking,” answered the doctor, “A night on the town.”

“Sounds good to me!” said AnnMarie. “You in, Marge?”

“Long as you’re paying, Hank,” answered Marge.

The doctor smiled. “Of course I am.”

* * *

The bar was packed with people in brightly colored outfits and roaring with laughter and jollity. Marge loved Friday nights town for this exact reason: everyone let their hair down and let  _loose._ “C’mon Hank, one sip of alcohol ain’t gonna kill you!” AnnMarie urged, offering her green apple martini.

“I really should abstain,” protested Hank calmly. “One of us needs to remain sober tonight.”

Marge rolled her eyes. “It’s just a taste! You can handle it.” She offered her own drink, which was brightly colored and contained mango, pineapple, and passion fruit. She had no idea what the blue flavor was, but she loved that part too.

Hank shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I am going to have to decline. The two of you are more than welcome to drink, but for my part, I will stick to water and soda.”

“Yer no fun,” jibed AnnMarie.

“I can be plenty of fun while still sober.”

“Lay off him, you two,” said a man with red-tinted goggles over his eyes. “He can be sober if he wants to.”

AnnMarie’s pretty green eyes widened as she took in the man. “Yes _sir._ ” Her cheeks reddened a little.

“Hey Scott,” Marge greeted.

“Hey Marge,” the man with red-tinted goggles answered, lifting his sex-on-the-beach in greeting.

“Hey Scott,” purred a third voice, belonging to an absolutely stunning woman with long silky red hair. She slipped into the seat beside Scott and sat too close, with an air of familiarity.

“Hey Jean,” Scott said warmly, turning to her. Jean kissed Scott on the lips. Scott lingered.

AnnMarie’s face fell; she looked elsewhere.

Marge cleared her throat loudly and gave Scott a pointed look when Jean released his mouth. Scott blushed and fixed his goggles, which had gone slightly askew. “How’s that awful case of redeye doing?” Marge asked casually, a touch too loud. “Still itching? Still picking out crusty pieces?”

“No,” mumbled Scott. “The medicine’s working.” He shrunk down into his seat.

Marge shifted marginally closer to AnnMarie so their arms were touching. She gave Scott a big fake smile. “Oh good. This must be the girlfriend you were talking about..?”

“Yes,” Scott replied guiltily. “This is Jean. Jean, this is the nurse that helped me at the hospital.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” said Jean coldly, her hands protectively on Scott’s shoulders.

The bald bartender slid over and refilled AnnMarie’s martini glass. He had an intricate pulley system which allowed him to move around behind the bar without his wheelchair. “Bad day at the hospital?” he asked AnnMarie quietly.

“Naw,” AnnMarie answered, still down-in-the-mouth. “Just hate bein’ single.”

“You’ll find him someday,” Charles advised. He smiled at the handsome, distinguished man standing guard by the door. The man had a square jaw, a sharklike smile, and hair graying majestically at the temples. Everything about him boasted wealth and confidence, with an underlying whiff of danger.

“You mean like you found yours?” AnnMarie said, following his gaze.

Erik shared a smile with his husband. Charles smiled dreamily at him for a long moment before remembering AnnMarie. “-Perhaps not exactly how I found mine,” Charles granted, “But trust me. He’s out there.”

Marge snorted softly, staring into her glass. She didn’t really believe in that stuff anymore. She used to— she used to believe in true love, and fate, and fairy tales, and all that magical fantastical stuff— but she’d been too many people and moved too many times for her to ever have a chance at that sort of happiness. Maybe it wasn’t for everyone. She hadn’t felt that way in years, and who knows if she’d ever feel that way again. She drained her glass and handed the empty to Charles.

“It is not wise to drink away your sorrows,” advised Hank.

“Couple’a beautiful young women like you? Ain’t got much to be sad about,” said a gruff voice belonging to a very muscular, hairy man with oddly shaped black hair and large sideburns. He took a seat near AnnMarie. “The usual,” he ground out. Charles wheeled away on his device to fetch the man a whiskey.

AnnMarie snorted at the man. “You don’t know what we’ve been through…”

The gruff man’s gray eyes twinkled with amusement. “What’d you get, a bad perm? Dress you wanted wasn’t on sale?”

“Well,” piped up Marge, fed up with his sexist crap, “she _did_ watch a man hack himself to death until his chest was covered in blood. Oh and she’s birthed five babies this week, one of which was stillborn— that was on Monday. She treated a child with cancer. Who died, by the way. And let’s see, what else happened this month..?”

“The guy with maggots in his chest,” AnnMarie added. She slammed back a long gulp of martini.

“Right,” agreed Marge with fierce brightness in her eyes. “The guy with maggots in his chest.”

The gruff man raised an eyebrow. “I stand corrected,” he said. He sent a heated look over their shoulders at Jean, who in turn broke eye contact and looked ashamed of something. Scott swiveled to ask Jean what was wrong. The gruff man’s expression soured.

“Can we please talk about something more pleasant while we partake in sustenance?” asked Hank gently. “I would prefer not to think about maggots or death while I drink.”

“Bet that makes your soda taste _real_ funny,” said AnnMarie.

“I’ve drunk thinking about worse,” volunteered the gruff man, his gaze far away for a moment.

Marge took a large gulp of her drink. “That’s enough of that,” she announced. “Dance with me?” She offered her hand to AnnMarie.

AnnMarie blushed. “Oh, I shouldn’t— are you sure? I mean…”

“We came out here to have fun, didn’t we?” Marge pointed out. “So c’mon. Have fun with me.” AnnMarie took her hand. Marge pulled her to her feet and led them to the dance floor, where Marge led them in a lively jig.

She ignored the gruff man watching them, and subsequently ignored whatever he was saying to Hank.

Instead, she focused on getting AnnMarie to cheer up. She spun her and twirled her until AnnMarie was beaming, until AnnMarie stomped her feet and clapped her hands like the best of them. Marge beamed right back.

“I’m thirsty,” AnnMarie panted after a few songs.

“So am I,” Marge admitted. They resumed their seats at the bar and asked Charles for water.

The gruff man was watching them warmly.

Suddenly, a man with a white curled wig, askew on his head, burst into the bar. He was dressed from head to toe in the latest fashion and had a face lined with age, but although he was old, his wide blue eyes still sparkled with energy. “Excuse me!” he said loudly. Several heads turned his way. “Has anyone seen a man named Howard Stark?”

The music stopped. Heads turned all over the bar, either to the man straightening his wig and coat and striding into the bar, looking harried, or to the person nearest to them. Murmurs broke out all over the bar.

“Please, I implore you!” the man begged. “It’s urgent!” He nearly tripped over a chair. This startled him. “Has _anyone_ seen Howard Stark?”

“The inventor?” Hank wondered softly.

“Yes!” The man rushed towards Hank. “Have you seen him?”

“I’m afraid not,” answered Hank. “I have only heard of him. Truly, a brilliant scientific mind.”

The man deflated. He looked around, worried. “Has anyone seen him, or heard any news of his whereabouts?”

No one answered. Eyes averted. The murmuring grew in volume.

“No,” said the gruff man with the sideburns. “But if you’re lookin’ for him, I know a guy who can help…” He took a sip of his whiskey and smirked. “But it’s gonna cost ya.”

Immense relief caused the harried man to slump, eyes full of gratitude. “Please, sir. I am the personal caretaker of Mister Howard Stark.” He held out a suitcase in front of him. “Money is no object.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jonathan Lowell Spencer Storm was ridiculously rich, ridiculously popular, and ridiculously good-looking. Everything in his life was handed to him on a silver platter. And if it wasn’t, all he had to do was smile and pull a few strings, and whatever he wanted was his. He passed every athletic test with ease, and every intellectual test, he either passed because it was too easy, or he passed because he cheated. He was charismatic, muscular, charming, and had pretty much everyone wrapped around his little finger.

He’d slept with nearly every woman in the kingdom. Those he hadn’t slept with were either related to him, or otherwise not “hot” enough, according to his standards. Still, he prided himself for making the occasional exception. He considered this proof that he wasn’t _completely_ shallow.

Jonathan Lowell Spencer Storm- “Call me Johnny,” he said, kissing a servant girl’s neck as she clung to him in a dark alcove- was the crown prince. He and his sister were the only heirs to the throne, and his sister, Susan- kind, soft-spoken, and the complete opposite of a doormat- was older, but unfortunately born female. His parents wanted their first _son_ to be heir to the throne, and so Susan had gracefully accepted her place as runner-up and had tried her best to groom Johnny into a proper heir to the throne since childhood, but Johnny was a real firecracker, and refused to be tamed.

He didn’t care about politics, or history, or economics, or anything else that would be useful in running a kingdom. His passions lay with women, partying, and partying with women. His tutors were both frustrated and impressed by his expert grasp of science and engineering, since Johnny never tried in school and never applied himself at anything except athletic pursuits and seducing as many women as possible.

And Johnny—“Oh, _Johnny!”_ gasped the servant girl—couldn’t care less whether he was talented with science. He couldn’t care less about academics in general. And being the future king had been handed to him from birth, so he took that for granted. He never really thought about it; it was just something he was destined to do.

“Johnny!” said Susan sharply.

Johnny lifted his mouth from the valley between the servant girl’s breasts and stared at his sister.

“You are wanted in the throne room!” she announced, arms crossed over her pale blue dress. _“Now.”_

“Aw, can’t it wait five minutes?” He pouted.

“No,” Susan snapped.

Johnny sighed and released the servant girl. “Later.” He tossed a wink at her. The servant girl straightened her skirts and scrambled to fix her hair.

Susan rolled her eyes. “Really, Johnny? Are you going to impregnate _every woman in this kingdom?”_

Johnny wrinkled his nose. “God I hope not!” His lip curled in disgust. “Can you imagine, _me?_ A _dad?”_ He shook his head. “No _thanks!”_

“Really,” said Susan, still quietly fuming. “Because you’re well on your way. Do you have any idea how many women we’ve had to pay off because they claimed to be pregnant with _your heirs?”_

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Probably lying. They just want a piece of The Torch.” He puffed out his chest with pride.

“That is _such_ a stupid nickname,” Susan grumbled as they stepped into the cavernous throne room. The floor was marble, the ceilings high and arched.

“I think it’s cool!” Johnny argued.

“Johnny, _nothing_ about you is cool.”

Johnny grinned. “’Cause I’m so _hot?”_

Susan rolled her eyes.

“Jonathan,” greeted the queen.

“Hey,” greeted Johnny, waving casually at his mother.

“We have something we need to discuss with you,” announced the king.

“Yeah?” said Johnny, unimpressed and unconcerned. “What’s that?”

The king and the queen shared a glance. “It has come to our attention,” the king said, “that you are in need of a wife.”

Johnny groaned. _This_ again?

The queen fixed Johnny with a look. “We have made a deal with a neighboring kingdom. You are to marry their daughter.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hey!” Johnny protested, holding up his hands. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

“Yes,” said the king. “We are sending you to meet her immediately. The carriage is waiting outside.”

“But--!”

“If you can produce a good reason why you should not marry this woman, we will listen,” the queen said.

“If not,” the king said, “you two are as good as engaged.”

“But I need to pack my clothes! And—”

“Already taken care of,” said the queen.

“And cancel my plans—”

“They’ll figure it out,” said Susan.

Johnny glared at her.

“If you have no further protest,” said the king, “your escort is here.”

A snooty-looking man with poofy pants and a stupid haircut was waiting, hands folded behind his back, nose in the air, eyelids all droopy like he didn’t give a fuck. Johnny hated that guy. He tried throwing a puppy-dog pout at his parents, but his parents remained stern.

“Fine,” Johnny grumbled. “I’ll meet your stupid princess.”

“Usually you’re so _eager_ to meet beautiful young women,” pointed out Susan drily.

“Uh, yeah,” said Johnny, “’Cause I don’t have to _marry_ them!”

Susan patted him on the back unsympathetically. “Oh you poor thing.”

The snooty man turned his indifferent gaze on Johnny. “Are you ready, sire?”

“No.” Johnny followed his stupid poofy pants out of the throne room anyway.

“Oh relax,” said Susan, “It’s only a three-day carriage ride.”

Johnny groaned.

* * *

The carriage ride could  _not_ have been more boring. Or more pointless. Or more devoid of anything Johnny would rather be doing at the moment. He stared out the window, chin in his hand, at the green hilly landscape rolling by. Trees’ leaves shivered in the warm breeze. Wildflowers streaked past. Birds swooped and twittered like the world was a really great fucking place where everyone was happy and  _free_ and didn’t have to marry some ugly stick-in-the-mud that they’d never met.

Johnny held his nose when they passed pastures full of cows. He didn’t know how anyone could _stand_ living in the country. It always smelled like shit. And there was _nothing around_ for _miles._

Johnny was _so_ beyond bored. He flopped this way and that in his seat. He sat sideways. He spread his legs. He sat with his back mostly horizontal on the bench. He slung himself across both benches like they were a hammock. He even, briefly, tried sitting upside-down, but all the blood rushed to his head and one of the wheels hit a rock, which jarred his head painfully against the floor and messed up his hair. Johnny sat up, rubbing his head, and yelled at the driver for his incompetence.

He noticed belatedly that the carriage had stopped. He rolled his eyes. “Come on, what’s the hold-up??” This carriage ride was far too long as it was. He kicked the wall across from him, not like it would do any good. He liked to imagine the driver could feel him kicking through the wall though. “Come _onnn!”_

A butterfly flew past the window.

Johnny sighed loudly.

Then suddenly, he was grabbed from behind by two strong arms, something was thrown over his eyes, a sickly-sweet smelling cloth was cupped over his nose and mouth by a strong hand, and then Johnny started feeling dizzy. His eyes fluttered shut, his body went limp, and next thing he knew, he was in a small wooden compartment, and everything was dark.

“Hey!!” Johnny protested. He kicked at the nearest wall. “Let me out of here! I’ll beat you up, I swear! The _second_ I get out of here, you’re gonna regret it! I will— _really_ fuck you up! Do you have _any_  idea who I am? –Yeah that’s right,” he said, despite receiving no response, “I’m a _crown prince._ And not only that, a champion karate master! I will kick, and punch, and—whack the _fuck_ out of you, whoever you are! –Are you listening to me?? I’m serious, you’re gonna regret this! Hey! Let me go!!” He kept kicking. “Let me out of here! –Look, what do you want, money? I’m _loaded._ I can give you however much money you want, just _let me go!”_

The air shifted, like the compartment was being opened. Johnny perked up and kept going. “I can give you thousands— _millions_ , if you just let me out of here _right now._ Nobody has to get hurt!”

“Ah am sorry abou’ this, mon ami,” said somebody who smelled masculine and spicy and _absolutely fantastic_ as he pulled Johnny’s blindfold down and retied it around Johnny’s mouth.

Johnny’s eyes widened. He was so shocked by the face of his captor, he didn’t even respond to the fingers shoving cloth into his mouth and retying the knot at the back of his head. The man’s face could have been chiseled from marble. He had absolutely _killer_ cheekbones, a jaw like a Roman statue, except hotter, the most perfect fucking nose Johnny had ever seen, lips that made Johnny’s mouth water, chestnut-brown hair that glinted every shade of red in the light of the setting sun, and _eyes that were just as red_. Not to mention the rugged stubble shading his jaw. Johnny had never witnessed such a good-looking man in his entire life. Even his own reflection wasn’t quite _that_ sexy. Johnny was pretty sure being this hot was illegal.

The amazingly hot man was frowning in concentration as he gently tied the knot behind Johnny’s head. He patted Johnny on the cheek when he was done. “There. Tha’s bettah.” He shut the lid to the compartment again, leaving Johnny in stunned silence.

Seconds later, Johnny felt the familiar bump and roll of wheels underneath whatever-he-was-in.

His heart was pounding wildly. The image of that ridiculously attractive man seemed to have burned itself into his retinas. Even in the dark, Johnny’s eyes kept tracing over and over the memory of that face.

_Who the fuck is he?_

* * *

Remy LeBeau pulled to a stop half a mile down the road from his hidden treehouse. He hid his small horse-drawn cart behind a large bush and let the horse loose in a nearby field. The horse ambled over to a lush spot of grass and started grazing.

Remy returned to the cart and opened the compartment under his seat. “All righ’, mon ami. Time tu get out.”

The prince sat up slowly and stared at him. Remy took half a step back. Johnny’s blue eyes were intense, and fringed with some of the thickest, most luxurious eyelashes Remy had ever seen. The way Johnny’s eyes were grazing over Remy’s face made him wish he’d worn his faceguard; the prince would definitely recognize his face now, even if he did cover parts of it. That did not bode well for a thief such as Remy.

“Come on,” Remy urged, holding out a gloved hand. His gloves were custom-made, with only the middle two fingers fully covered; the other fingertips were left exposed.

The prince grabbed his hand, still staring at him, unblinking. He stepped down from the cart unsteadily, lurching forwards as the cart rolled out from underfoot. “Whoa dere, mon ami!” Remy reached out to steady him, grasping the prince by both well-shaped shoulders.

This brought them within less than half a foot of each other, once the prince had regained his footing. The sun had sunk just below the horizon, coloring everything in shades of pink and purple. The soft lighting could not have been more flattering on the prince’s handsome face. Had Remy been younger, and more naïve, perhaps this would have woven a spell around the moment and caused him to lean in and steal a kiss— but Remy stopped a few inches from the prince’s face. He’d sworn off attachments long ago. All they ever led to was trouble. “You all righ’?” he asked softly.

The prince nodded slowly, staring at Remy’s mouth.

Remy pressed his lips back together and swallowed the saliva that had gathered under his tongue. He released the prince’s shoulders. “Good.” He turned in the general direction of his treehouse. “Come wit’ me den.”

He walked half a dozen yards, ears attuned to the rustle of grass behind him with each step the prince took in his wake. He reminded himself that this was a kidnap victim, with him only until he was paid a high enough ransom.

Remy climbed into the treehouse and checked to see that the prince was close behind. He hovered next to the door, just in case the prince needed help climbing in. The prince hoisted himself into the treehouse with no trouble, the muscles in his arms flexing temptingly. He glanced around briefly before his eyes rested on Remy again.

Remy tried his darndest to banish any temptation to kiss him through that cloth.

“Hey!” greeted Jubilee brightly, flitting towards the door. “I saved you some dinner. I might have burnt the bottom a bit, but it’s still good. –Who’s that? Who’d you bring home with you?” She stood on her tiptoes and peered at the prince’s face.

“A cash cow,” Remy answered. “’e’s bein’ held for ransom, an’ nothin’ more.” This last part was said sternly.

The sternness hit Jubilee like water off a duck’s back. She completely ignored it. “Why’s he gagged? Usually you blindfold ‘em.”

“’e wouldn’t stop talking,” Remy explained. “Ah had tu do _somethin’_ , othawise we’d’a been discovah’d.”

“Huh.” She grabbed Johnny’s chin with one hand and turned his head this way and that, peering at him. “So who is ’e?”

“De crown prince,” Remy said, taking his seat at the humble small table and spooning himself a mouthful of gumbo.

Jubilee let out a low whistle. “He’s gonna fetch a _pretty_ sum, huh?”

“De prettiest,” Remy agreed, glancing up only to realize Johnny was staring at him. He broke eye contact and concentrated on his gumbo.

“Should we feed ’im?”

Remy hummed. “Only if ’e promises tu keep ’is mouth shut an’ not staht screamin’ or somethin’ foolish like tha’.” He risked shooting a warning, pointed look at Johnny. Johnny shook his head, still staring. Remy lowered his eyes and scooped out another spoonful of gumbo. “Hope ’e doesn’ mind burnt gumbo.”

“It’s not that bad!” Jubilee objected.

“Mah paht isn’t,” Remy agreed, “but de prince here ’as de honor of emptyin’ out th’ pot.”

To his relief, the prince did _not_ immediately start rambling upon the removal of his gag. Instead, he followed Jubilee to the table— she sat him down _right across from Remy_ , and Remy had to create an art out of avoiding eye contact— and Jubilee handed the prince the pot and a spoon and said, “Here. Eat up.”

“What is this?” the prince wondered aloud, sniffing the pot.

“It’s gumbo,” said Remy, staring into his own bowl employing his poker face. “Eat up.”

The prince hesitated for a moment.

Jubilee shoved the pot closer to him.

The prince tentatively took a spoonful. He let out an absolutely sinful noise and exclaimed, “Holy shit, this is good!”

“At least _someone_ enjoys my cooking!” teased Jubilee, poking Remy’s gloved hand.

Remy rolled his eyes and finished his bowl.

The prince scooped spoonful after spoonful into his mouth as though he couldn’t eat it fast enough, interspersed with emphatic _“Mmm”_ ’s and ecstatic breathy noises.

Remy was rinsing his bowl out in the dish basin when the prince exclaimed, “I want to eat that every day for the rest of my _life!”_

Remy froze, bowl in-hand. He turned slowly. “So ya _do_ enjoy peasant dishes, homme?”

“Dude. I will willingly eat _anything_ you put in front of me. That was amazing!” the prince gushed. His cheeks were tinted pink and his eyes shone bright with excitement.

Remy turned away again and finished rinsing his bowl. “Nevah had anythin’ like dat before?” he guessed. He knew the food enjoyed by the aristocratic class, the royals, and anyone else who was disgustingly rich differed widely from the fare he usually enjoyed.

“No!” exclaimed the prince as though genuinely shocked by this discovery. “Are there _more_ dishes like that?”

“Yeah,” said Jubilee, amused. “It’s called Cajun food.”

“Well!” the prince announced, “Consider me a fan of Cajun!”

Remy roughly dried off his bowl. “Ya migh’ wanna talk less _loudly,_ chère.”

“Oops!” apologized Jubilee, lowering her voice. “Sorry!”

“Where _are_ we, by the way?” asked the prince. “Why’d you take me here? I told you, if all you want is money, I’m loaded. You didn’t have to steal me. I’d’ve given it to you if you wanted it. I don’t even care. I have so much money I don’t know what to do with it. Seriously, giving you a few million is like nothing to me.”

Remy whirled to face him, bristling. “Tha’ is _exactly_ why Ah kidnapped you. De spoiled attitude of de rich people— dey t’ink dey can ‘ave _everything._ An’ de problem is, dey can. Meanwhile, some of us couldn’ even find a job.”

“Whoa there, Gambit!” Jubilee held out a hand against his chest.

He tore her hand away from his chest and cornered the spoiled prince against a wall, heat creeping up his neck. “You ‘ave people who are so rich, money means nothing to dem! Meanwhile dere ahre people stahvin’ in de streets, who ‘ave _no_ money, an’ money means _everyt’in’_ to dem, but dey can’t _get_ any!” Their noses were almost touching. “You ‘ave _no idea_ how dat feels.”

The prince simply stared at him, stunned.

“Gambit…” started Jubilee tentatively, laying a hand on his arm. He shrugged it off like a horse swats a fly.

“I thought,” said the prince tentatively, licking his lips, eyes flickering down, then back up again, “you just kidnapped me for the money.”

“Ah did,” Remy said, still only a small nudge away from brushing the bridge of their noses together. _But dere is somethin’ about you tha’ makes mah blood hot._ He examined those blue eyes, too close. “But Ah wouldn’t ‘ave to if ya’d _fix de damn kingdom._ ”

“I… I don’t…” The prince licked his lips again. “I don’t know how.”

Remy pushed their noses together. “Figure it out,” he said in a deadly low voice. He tore himself away from the prince and stomped towards his hammock.

“Uh… Remy?” asked Jubilee tentatively. “Where does he sleep?”

“Put ‘im on de floor.” Remy roughly thwacked open a softcover book and pretended to read past the pounding of blood behind his temples.

“Okay,” said Jubilee uncertainly.


	3. Chapter 3

Susan was sitting in her study, painting a bowl of fruit with light blue fabric draped pleasantly behind it, when a servant bust in breathlessly. “We’ve just received word,” he panted, “The crown prince never arrived at the checkpoint!”

“What?” Susan’s paintbrush clattered to the floor, leaving a trail of sky blue in its wake.

The servant straightened and saluted her, still panting. “His carriage was found empty on the side of the road. There was no blood, no sign of a struggle, but we can only assume the prince has been kidnapped!”

“Or else run off,” muttered Susan, pale, face drawn with worry.

“You are to be put under constant surveillance until the prince is recovered,” the servant added in an apologetic tone, bowing. “Should the worst occur, _you_ will have to take his place as heir to the throne!”

“I know,” she said quietly. Her blood ran cold. Somewhere out there, Johnny had better be doing something stupid. She didn’t know what she’d do if he was— _no._ He had to be okay. “..Thank you,” she said, wishing she could remember the servant’s name.

The servant bowed again. “We are searching for him, princess,” he assured her.

“I’m sure you are,” she murmured.

* * *

Johnny had never slept on a floor before. He’d slept on couches, in haylofts, and in every bed one could possibly think of, but the floor was new.

And much, much harder than he would like.

He tossed and turned, turned and tossed. He tried to block out Jubilee’s loud snoring with his pillow.

But it was no use. He couldn’t sleep.

The most ridiculously handsome man in the world had kidnapped him, and was mad at him for something Johnny had never really given much thought to. He’d thought the guy would be _happy_ to be offered money. Most people were. The higher the sum, the happier they were.

But this guy… this guy was somethin’ else.

Johnny couldn’t stop thinking about him. He carried himself with such confidence, moved about the world as if he owned the place. Yet at the same time, every motion seemed intimate, like he could scoop up any part of the world and make love to it.

Of course, the thought of ..what was it? Remy? Gambit? Did he have two names? –Well anyway. The thought of him making love to anything was a wonderful image to dwell on.

The major problem with that was that he was a _guy._ Guys were not supposed to think about other guys like that. Those kind of thoughts were supposed to be for guys thinking about girls. He wasn’t supposed to notice the way the light hit Remy’s eyes just so, or the exact shape of Remy’s lower lip, or how that little dip between his lip and his chin looked like the perfect place to rest his _own_ bottom lip. He wasn’t supposed to be wondering if he’d taste the lingering flavors of gumbo on Remy’s tongue, or wonder how Remy would kiss. How much pressure he’d use, whether he’d start off fast with his mouth open, chests pressed together, or whether he’d start off slow, teasing Johnny’s lips by slowly rubbing their mouths back and forth against each other. He wasn’t supposed to be thrilled by the height difference, or the way he smelled, or the way his voice rumbled dangerously when he was angry and how damn _sexy_ that sounded.

His mouth was not supposed to be watering while he thought about this.

He shouldn’t be thinking about this _at all._

Yet, throughout the sleepless night, he locked lips with Remy in his imagination over and over again.

* * *

Remy couldn’t sleep either. He tossed and turned, angry with himself. Angry with the prince, for being rich and spoiled and utterly charming. He thought, angrily, that the prince probably had everyone wrapped around his little finger, and could get anything he wanted. Well, not _here_ he wouldn’t.

The next morning, Jubilee stretched and yawned and bumbled around, making coffee. Remy thought bitterly that the prince probably had gourmet coffee every day.

The prince sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Is that coffee?”

“Yup,” Jubilee answered. “Want some?”

“Got any cinnamon?” The prince croaked. Except it wasn’t really a croak. Annoyingly, his morning voice was low and rusty and very, very sexy. Remy tried to block it out with his pillow.

It didn’t work.

“Sugar?” the prince asked.

“Yup!” Jubilee said.

“Oh hell yeah. You are my new favorite person.”

Remy scowled at the wall.

“You want some coffee, Gambit?” Jubilee called.

Remy groaned and rolled over. His hair stuck up at odd angles, his stubble had grown a day too long, and he could feel his eyes were bloodshot without havin’ to look in a mirror.

Jubilee blew out a low whistle. “How come you two look like you didn’t sleep a wink last night?”

“Floor was too hard,” the prince said, staring at Remy’s hair.

“You sure that’s the _only_ thing that was too hard?” Jubilee teased.

The prince knocked her on the arm. His crooked grin could charm a grandma right out of her panties.

Good thing Remy wasn’t a grandma. He stood, knees creaking. “Yeah,” he said, ignoring the comments, “Ah want coffee.”

Jubilee fetched him a mug and stirred in sugar just like Remy liked it. She slid the mug across the table.

Remy caught it and took a sip.

The prince was staring at him.

Remy took a small bit of joy in seeing the dark circles beneath the prince’s sky blue eyes with the ridiculously lush eyelashes. Those eyes were currently fixed on Remy’s chest, where his shirt had been left open. Remy grunted and took another sip of coffee. The prince could stare at Remy’s chest all he wanted, Remy didn’t care.

“So when are we gonna send the ransom note?” asked Jubilee eagerly, chin in her hands.

“Give it a couple days,” Remy said. “Let ‘em get worried. Th’ more worried dey are, th’ more dey’ll be willin’ tu pay.”

“That is a _fantastic_ accent,” the prince gushed. “What is that?”

Remy’s hand tightened on the handle of his mug. “Cajun.” He slammed back another sip of hot black coffee.

“Man, is _everything_ Cajun awesome?”

“Pretty much,” said Jubilee, grinning.

“Oh no you don’,” Remy warned. “You are _not_ romancin’ Jubilee. She’ only fifteen, homme. Ah don’ care if ya ahre de crown prince, tha’s illegal.”

The prince wrinkled his nose. “What? Why would I hit on _her?_ –No offense,” said the prince, holding his hands up and facing Jubilee, “but I only go for _mature_ women.”

Jubilee crossed her arms. “I’m mature!” she protested.

“Not mature enough!” Remy stated, slamming his mug down on the table and glaring.

Jubilee’s lip wobbled. “..Fine!” She stood and started gathering her coat and boots.

“Where ahre ya goin’, chère?”

“Out!” Jubilee snapped her gloves on over her fingers.

“Ya can’ jus’ go out!” Remy protested, standing.

“Oh yes I can!” Jubilee headed toward the door.

Remy followed. “Ya ahren’ old enough tu go out by yahself! Ya’ll get in trouble!”

“No I won’t!” said Jubilee. “I’m better than _you_ at picking pockets! I don’t need you! I don’t need any of this!”

“Ya need a place to live,” Remy warned.

“I’m going out!!” Jubilee declared. She leapt out the door of the treehouse and landed in a crouch, got to her feet, looked around, and sprinted off, darting between the trees like a young fawn.

“Teenagers,” said the prince, his voice way too close.

Remy nearly fell out the door, but the prince caught him by the collar. They stared at each other for a heart-pounding moment, Remy’s collar bunched in the hands of the crown prince, face inches away.

Remy reached up and removed the prince’s hands from his collar. He released the prince’s hands and took a step back.

“Maybe we should go out too,” the prince suggested.

“Yeah?” Remy said, disinterested. He turned his back. “Why’s tha’?”

The prince was silent for a moment. “..Because you said you wanted me to see what it’s like to live among the common people, right? –You wanted me to understand what it’s like to be poor?”

Remy’s shoulders softened. He kept his back turned. “We’re not goin’ out,” he said over his shoulder. He stared straight ahead. “We’re not goin’ anywhere.”

“Why?” The prince took a step closer. Remy felt the prince’s hand hovering over his shoulder.

Remy twisted his shoulder away. “Because Ah am a wanted fugitive. Because dere is a price on mah head, an’ if anyone recognizes meh..” He made a slicing motion across his throat.

“But I’m the prince,” the prince said. “I could absolve you from anything. I pretty much _am_ the law.”

“An’ tha’s why Ah’ve gotta keep you hidden,” Remy said quietly.

“Uh. What?”

“Ya can’t go out,” Remy said, walking across the room to pick up a classic novel off the shelf, “because people would recognize you, an’ then Ah’d be wanted for treason, an’ Ah wouldn’ get paid mah ransom. An’ in case ya haven’ noticed, Ah need money.” He flopped down in his hammock and pretended to be engrossed in the novel.

Johnny sighed and paced around the room. Eventually he got bored enough that he picked up a novel…

* * *

Logan eyed the suitcase in front of him. He could smell the cash inside it.

“..Will you help?” asked the man in the white powdered wig, uncertain.

“Gonna have to travel a while before we find him,” Logan said. He took a cigar, stuck it between his lips, and lit it. He took a drag and blew out a slow trail of smoke.

The wigged man covered his nose with a handkerchief and coughed.

Logan considered the man. “Gonna need a crew.”

“..A, _crew_ , sir?”

“Mmhmm.” Logan took another drag on his cigar. “We gotta sail to Louisiana.”

“Louisiana?!” exclaimed the attractive brunette with white streaks in her hair. “That’s where I grew up!”

“You know the land?” Logan asked, one eyebrow quirked in interest.

“Only the backwater areas,” she admitted, “And I’m prob’ly a little rusty.”

Logan’s mouth curled in a little smile. “That’s where he is.”

“Can I come?!” The brunette leaned forward in her seat.

“Course you can.” He glanced at her black-haired companion. “How ‘bout you?”

Marge shook her head. “I couldn’t… I can’t leave Hank alone at the hospital like that.”

“You wouldn’t be leaving me alone,” Hank reassured her gently. “There are plenty of other nurses who could fill in for you during your period of absence.”

Marge bit her lip and looked to AnnMarie for answers.

Both were distracted by an attractive group of people walking into the bar. The one in the red shirt with the goatee and the parrot on his shoulder was complaining about something. The tall one with the long blond hair and the toasted-marshmallow-gold beard was beaming around at everyone and everything. The rumpled one in the too-large green shirt was cleaning his glasses. The muscular clean-cut blond man’s arm was draped around the waist of the man with shoulder-length brown hair; the brunet’s bronze-and-brass arm was likewise draped around the blond man’s waist. A leggy woman with strawberry-blond-red hair was walking between the tall bearded one and the one in the red shirt, whose chest was glowing dimly with a green-blue light, like the shallows of the Caribbean Sea; she seemed frustrated with the one with the red shirt and the goatee. The one with the metal arm kept either whispering to the blond man, or kissing his chin or his cheek.

And at the back of the group hobbled a man with a peg leg and an attractive woman with brown hair, brown eyes, and a slash of red lipstick marking her lips. She walked very close to the man with crutches, as though to give him support.

It wasn’t often groups that big entered all together.

Logan didn’t realize something was amiss until Marge got to her feet, pale and unsteady, and said “Peggy?”

The brunette with the red lipstick paled. Her eyes widened. She leaned on the man with the peg leg for support. _“Angie?”_


	4. Chapter 4

Johnny was bored as fuck. –Well, fucking isn’t boring, actually. Fucking would be a welcome passtime at this point. _Anything_ would, really. He’d tried to pay attention to six or seven books by now and got bored within the first three pages. He tried sitting in every position possible at _least_ twice. He was currently sitting with his butt against the wall, his feet propped in a V overhead, and _Frankenstein_ had just plopped down on his face. “These are all boring!” he complained.

Remy licked his finger and flipped a page, ignoring him.

Johnny groaned loudly and rolled to the side. He pouted at the words. “I don’t _care_ about some guy and his sister! Not unless that guy is me, and the sister is _my_ sister, and even _then_ I don’t really care.”

“Truly a noble king,” Remy muttered.

Johnny threw his head back and rolled his eyes up to look at Remy across the room. “All these books are boring!”

“Dey ahre classics.” Remy spared him the barest glance before returning to _Voltaire._

Johnny sighed loudly. “I don’t _care_ about classics!”

Remy kept reading.

“How can you even _read_ this long?!” Johnny set _Frankenstein_ on the pile with the others.

Remy ignored him and kept reading.

“Remyyyyy,” Johnny whined.

Remy ignored him.

Johnny crawled across the floor, knelt in front of Remy, and waved a hand in his face.

Remy backed away, taking his book with him.

Johnny kept waving and leaning closer until he fell into Remy’s lap, nose bumping against Remy’s stomach.

Remy sighed and closed his book. “Ah can read fo’ dis long,” Remy answered, “because sometimes tha’ is de only escape available tu meh, an’ it’s preferable tu the way Ah’m stuck livin’.”

Johnny stared up at him, chin against his ribcage. “So… you feel trapped by being poor?”

Remy had turned his head to the side and was looking anywhere but at Johnny. “Doesn’ everyone?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Johnny admitted. “I’ve never really thought about money. I always just.. _had_ it. And it was weird, ‘cause like, I almost never leave the palace anyway. So what do I even need it for?”

“Do you ‘ave _any_ idea how many people would hate you jus’ fo’ sayin’ tha’?”

“Not really, no.” Remy met his eyes; Johnny’s heart skipped a beat. Those eyes were seriously the _coolest_ eyes he’d ever seen. They were so—so— _red._ He’d never seen someone with red eyes before.

“Ya really ‘ave no idea how hard it is tu live outsahde th’ castle, do ya.”

“Nope.”

Remy’s eyes simmered. He turned his head to the side and stared at the wall. His neck was really gorgeous. “…Tha’s why Ah can’t stand ya.”

That really stung. Johnny stood and backed away.

Remy kept staring at the wall, lost in thought.

Johnny went back to the corner where he’d been reading and sifted through the pile, not really interested in reading any of these books. He wished he could just jump out of the treehouse like Jubilee. He picked up _Dracula_ for the third time, still not interested in it, and tried to find where he’d left off.

He sighed and put the book down. “You know, I’d know more about you if you’d just _tell_ me.”

“Too bad Ah don’ wanna talk tu ya,” Remy said without looking at him.

Johnny threw the book aside. “Well tough! I don’t wanna read, and you don’t wanna talk, so we’re just gonna have to find something else to do, aren’t we!”

Remy ignored him and flipped a page.

Johnny swiftly closed the distance between them and threw Remy’s book aside. “I will not be ignored,” Johnny said, looming over Remy, hands braced against the wall.

“An’ Ah will no’ take orders from a spoiled prince,” Remy stated.

“How about requests?” Johnny’s hands trailed down the wall until he could feel the heat in the space between his wrists and Remy’s shoulders.

“Depends on de request.” Remy’s voice was low and silky. Johnny wanted to wrap that voice around himself like a blanket and breathe in.

“Entertain me,” Johnny challenged, leaning closer.

Remy examined his face for a long moment. “…Ah have a deck a’ cards.” Their eyes locked.

“Sounds perfect.”

* * *

Peggy couldn’t believe her eyes. She’d dyed her hair black, and she was dressed in a peasant blouse and skirt that blended in with everyone else around her, rather than the standout sparkling dress she’d been wearing eight years ago, but there was no mistaking those eyes, those cheekbones…  _that voice!_

Daniel, too, was staring at the beautiful woman coming towards them as though walking in a dream. “Peg?” Angie said shakily. “Is it really you?”

Tears overflowed down Peggy’s cheeks. “It’s me,” she said, voice breaking. Angie touched her cheek as though Peggy was made of glass. A teardrop rolled onto Angie’s soft fingertips. Peggy smiled, a soft sob escaping her. “I didn’t think you’d remember me,” Peggy confessed.

“Of course I remember you!” Angie said. “You kind of changed my life.”

Peggy smile-sobbed again. “And you changed mine!”

Angie seemed surprised by this. “Really?”

“Yes!” Peggy hadn’t realized she’d caught Angie’s hand and was holding it, both sets of knuckles nearly grazing the other’s chest, until Angie drew her hand closer and it _did_ brush against her soft bosom. “I quit being a spy.”

Angie raised her eyebrows. “Really!”

“I joined the navy,” Peggy confessed. “I straightened up.”

“Aw, Peg, I’m so proud of you!” Angie stepped closer, sealing the distance between them, chests pressed together, interlocked hands held between them. She wiped away Peggy’s tears with her free hand.

“What about you?” Peggy asked, trying to recover. “What have you been up to?”

Angie smiled crookedly. “Oh, you know. Little bit of this, little bit of that. Been pretty much every career they’d let me into. I’m a nurse right now, though I was thinking of moving on again, if it got dicey. I don’t know if anyone’s still out there lookin’ for me.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know either,” Peggy confessed.

Angie made a face.

“…Marge?” asked the brunette with white streaks in her hair.

Peggy’s heart skipped a beat. “Marge?” she repeated.

Angie blushed and waved her hand. “Yeah. I’ve had to use aliases so no one would find me.”

“So… your name’s _not_ Marge Cartinelli?” asked the brunette.

Angie blushed hot pink. “Nope.”

“Is _everyone_ in this crew gay?!” exclaimed Tony.

“I’m bisexual!” volunteered Steve loudly.

“So am I!” announced Pepper and Peggy at the same time.

Tony whirled to look at Pepper. “Okay, we are having a _long_ talk about that later.”

Pepper gave him a look.

“Pardon,” said a fretful-looking man in a powdered wig, holding a suitcase, “but did you say ‘crew’?”

“Yes I did!” replied Tony. “Crew. As in, we have a ship. And we sail places. Together. Why, what’s it to you?” Tony paled. “Wait— _Jarvis?_ Edwin _Jarvis?”_

“Young master Stark!” replied the man with equal surprise.

“Jarvis,” said Tony’s parrot in a voice that sounded exactly like Edwin’s.

“Yes, hello Jarvis,” responded Edwin Jarvis. He shook the proffered foot. “Pleased to see you’re doing well.”

“Pleasure to see you, sir,” said the parrot.

“Edwin Jarvis?” Steve repeated, in awe.

“Yes.” Edwin Jarvis drew himself up, absurd wig and all. “I’m looking for Master Stark. I’m afraid it’s a matter of grave importance.”

“I’m sorry to tell you this,” said Steve, “but Howard Stark was killed in battle.”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Edwin Jarvis, “but I can assure you he was not. There is a device which Howard implanted into his wrist, which tells me his vital signs. It does not matter how far away he is. And for the past several weeks, his heart rate has been quite troubling. At first I assumed it was an excess of sex, but when I went on my routine check of his vaults, I found one of them had been plundered. I’m afraid Master Stark has gotten himself into an awful situation.”

“Wait,” said Clint, _“One_ of his vaults? You mean there’s more than one?”

“You have a _device implanted in his wrist?”_ exclaimed Tony.

“Yes,” Edwin Jarvis said calmly. He held up his left wrist. “I have a matching one. He said he found my presence comforting.”

“Fascinating!” Bruce fumbled with his glasses.

“If Howard is alive,” Steve said, “we have no idea where he is. The last we saw of him was off the coast of South America, when we took down the Leviathan.”

“That’s where I come in,” said a gruff man with large sideburns and oddly styled black hair. He stubbed out the remains of his cigar.

“Yes,” said Jarvis, “Sir Logan was telling me he knows a man who can help locate Howard Stark.”

“It ain’t sir,” said Logan. “Just ‘Logan.’ And yeah, I know a guy.”

“But I need a crew to sail to him,” said Jarvis.

“I have a crew,” volunteered Steve.

“Oh no you don’t,” said Tony, clutching his chest. His forehead was sweaty, the bags under his eyes pronounced. “You are _not_ taking us on another wild goose chase.”

“What do you mean ‘wild goose chase’?” asked Clint cluelessly. “Both times Steve led us after something, we found it.”

“Tony, are you all right?” asked Bruce, laying a hand on his back.

Tony shoved Bruce’s hand away. “I’m fine!” he snapped.

“Tony?” Pepper asked, stepping closer. “You look pale…”

“I said I’m fine!” Tony snapped.

“Well I’m all for chasing geese,” said Clint. “Just for the record.”

“So am I,” said Bucky. “As long as Steve is the one chasing them.” He smiled warmly at Steve.

“Of course I’ll help you, Jarvis,” said Steve.

Tony’s knees buckled. He fell to the floor.

* * *

Loki had been feeling strange ever since Tony and his crew went ashore. At first he’d rolled his eyes and told himself it was stupid, they were only going to be gone for a few days. He’d planned to swim about the lagoon and mind his own business, converse with dolphins and starfish and whoever he could find hanging around the beautiful multi-colored coral reef. But the farther out he swam, the more he felt this odd  _tug_ . He  _needed_ to be near shore. He couldn’t explain why, but his entire body seemed to be screaming at him to  _get near shore._

Swimming near shore in a place with so many humans was dangerous. He hated the compulsion. He was extremely wary, despite the lack of men hanging about the docks.

The tug only grew stronger and stronger, as though trying to pull him inland. His heart started to ache. He clutched at his chest, breathing heavily, growing weaker and weaker.

Suddenly, he was overcome with dread.

He couldn’t shake it. Cold dread had settled like a rock in his digestive tract. His hands felt cold and clammy. “Tony,” he said. He didn’t know what was wrong, but whatever it was, it had to do with Tony.

The sense of dread spiked, then slowly plateaued. He swam in tight circles near their ship, popping up far too often, to check if they were nearby. If _Tony_ was nearby.

Loki was overcome with relief when he spotted Thor rushing towards him with Tony in his arms. Thor set Tony down on the moonlit pebbles, rounded with time. “Your spell,” announced Thor in an uncharacteristically quiet and sober voice.

The glowing in Tony’s chest was far too dim.

Loki gulped. He reached out two shaky hands and laid them on Tony’s chest. “Don’t die,” he pleaded. “Please.” Magic surged through him. “Don’t die.”

There was a flash. The glowing in Tony’s chest resumed.

Tony sat up and coughed.

“Tony!” Loki breathed out in relief. He threw his arms around Tony’s waist. He was pleasantly surprised by the warmth of Tony’s skin.

Tony coughed harder and gasped a few times. He startled for some reason. Then his arms wove around Loki’s cool shoulders, and Loki was looking up at him in the moonlight, and Tony’s face was softly illuminated from below by beautiful Caribbean blue, and from above by soft silver-blue, and then a little crease appeared between Tony’s eyebrows, and his eyes darted over Loki’s face, and Loki’s heart rate accelerated, and he began to wonder if Tony… If, maybe, Tony…

“Are you all right?!” Steve exclaimed, skidding to a stop on the pebbly shore. Bucky skidded to a stop right behind him.

“What happened?” implored Peggy, who was holding hands with Angie. AnnMarie halted just behind them, with Edwin Jarvis on her heels.

“Tony!” Pepper exclaimed, kneeling beside him and throwing her arms around his neck.

Loki let go of Tony’s waist and slunk back into the water.

Clint and Bruce stared worriedly down at Tony.

Daniel and Dugan stumbled onto the beach as well, also worried.

“Wha’d I miss?” Tony asked, looking around at the crowd of people that had gathered.

“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Logan, casually striding up to join them. He crossed his arms over his barrel chest.

“You fainted,” Bruce said, fumbling with his fingers. Clint reached over to still them.

“It is something to do with the spell Loki used,” Thor explained. “It seems to wear off whenever they are too far apart.”

“Excuse me?” Tony said. “You mean I’m stuck to this mermaid for the rest of my _life?”_

“No need to sound so thrilled,” muttered Loki.

“If the spell is keeping you alive,” said Thor seriously, “then yes.”

Tony frowned at Loki.

Loki slunk further back into the waves.

“Well that’s just fucking great!” exclaimed Tony. “How am I supposed to have a good time? Now I’ve gotta take the mopey _fish-_ boy with me everywhere!”

“I’m not exactly ecstatic with this situation either,” Loki said crisply. “Had I known I was binding myself to such an arrogant, selfish windbag, perhaps I would not have _bothered_ saving his life.”

“Easy fellas,” said Dugan. “Let’s not get carried away here.”

“Carried away?” repeated Tony. “I am not getting carried away. I am literally bound to this fish mongrel for life.”

“You are not _literally_ bound,” Loki pointed out. “That would involve rope. And whatever your disgusting sexual tastes may be, _I_ have no desire to experience bondage.”

“They are not disgusting!” Tony objected. “And what’s the matter with whips and cuffs? Who doesn’t like to feel naughty?”

Pepper covered her ears. “More than I needed to hear!”

“Whips and cuffs?” Thor echoed. “I do not remember reading about that…”

Daniel shifted awkwardly on his crutches. “Does someone wanna explain?”

Peggy rolled her eyes. “He means handcuffs. And some people enjoy being struck with whips, or spanked with various other things.”

Everyone stared at Peggy.

“What?” She glanced around. “You mean you didn’t know?”

“Didn’t know you were _into_ that, English!” Angie elbowed Peggy.

Peggy smirked and rolled her eyes. “I’m not. But there’s no shame in it for people who _are._ ”

“Damn right!” said Bucky.

Steve looked at Bucky with renewed interest.

Bucky gave Steve a heated look.

A slow, devious smile spread across Steve’s lips.

“Yeah,” said Tony, watching the way Steve and Bucky were definitely having eye-sex, “I’m gonna be thinking about that later.”

“You mean you _want_ to do those things?” Loki said softly, staring at Tony, aghast.

Tony shrugged. “Wouldn’t mind.”

“Well,” said Edwin Jarvis, his voice very high. “Glad to see everyone’s all right.” He shifted awkwardly.

Logan smirked.

“So we set sail in the morning then?” Jarvis asked for clarification.

Tony sighed. “Looks like my shore leave has been permanently cut short. So yeah.”


	5. Chapter 5

_“Focus.”_

Howard Stark’s eyes glazed over. Staring at an empty point in space, Howard groped blindly for the pencil they had laid out on the table.

Doctor Ivchenko placed the pencil between Howard’s fingers.

Eyes blank, Howard leaned over the map and began scribbling.

“I didn’t think that would work,” remarked Natalia.

“Do not listen to her,” said Doctor Ivchenko when Howard turned his head, the pencil paused in mid-air. “Focus on the sound of my voice… There you go. Focus…” Doctor Ivchenko droned on, soothingly giving Howard instructions.

Howard continued circling places on the map and scribbling numbers by them, until he had circled seven locations.

“Is that all of them?” Doctor Ivchenko asked calmly.

Howard nodded blankly.

“Good. You may set the pencil down.”

Howard slowly set the pencil on the table.

Doctor Ivchenko grabbed the map, folded it, and smugly put it in his pocket. “Do not underestimate my power, Natalia.”

“That’s all the locations, then?” Natalia asked, nodding at the bulge in Ivchenko’s jacket pocket.

“All the vaults Howard has ever created, yes. It is a start.”

“Is this the part where we throw him overboard?”

Doctor Ivchenko levelled her a condescending look. “My dear Natalia… This is only the beginning.”

* * *

The prince was absolutely terrible at poker. His eyes lit up whenever he thought he had a good hand. His entire  _body_ lit up when he was sure he had a good hand. And when he had a bad one, his entire body would slump, his eyebrows would draw together, and those unfairly beautiful blue eyes would cloud over.

Remy had won every hand so far. “You’re lucky we ahn’t bettin’ anything on dis game, mon ami. Ah’d’a robbed you outta house an’ home.”

“Shut up!” The prince currently had a bad hand. His golden-brown eyebrows were drawn together, his lips narrowed in a way that pushed them out just the slightest bit.

“Ya ahre terrible at this, mon ami.” Remy felt himself smiling against his will. He laid his cards down.

The prince threw his cards down on the table in frustration. “How are you so good at this?!”

Remy pointed to his face. “It’s all in de face, mon ami. Ya gotta keep it neutral. Tha’s why dey call it a ‘pokah face.’”

The prince’s jaw jutted out. His eyes sparked with anger and determination. “One more hand!”

Remy chuckled and gathered the cards, easily shaping them into a pile. He leaned back to shuffle them. “Ah t’ink dat’s enough pokah fo’ now.”

“Another game then! Come on! I gotta be better than you at _something!”_

Remy hummed as he shuffled the cards. “Ya ahre terrible at rummy, awful at blackjack, an’ hopeless at poker. Wha’ othah games do ya know?”

The prince bit his lip, bottom jaw pushed out as far as it would go. He maintained a challenging stare under his eyebrows. “…Go fish?”

Remy laughed. It was a full, deep, belly laugh- a rare occasion these days. The prince seemed confused by his laughter; pink had crept into his cheeks. This only made Remy laugh harder.

He was laughing so hard he didn’t hear Jubilee return. He didn’t notice her presence until she was standing over the table with two bags held triumphantly over her head. “Guess what I got!” she announced.

“Is it food?” asked the prince.

“Yup!” Jubilee plopped the bags on the table. They were full of fruit, vegetables, and rice. She beamed expectantly at Remy.

“..Not bad,” Remy said cautiously, examining the contents. “Tell me ya didn’ steal all o’ this?”

Jubilee pfff’d and rolled her eyes. “Only indirectly! –I picked a guy’s pocket and got us some groceries. There’s some left over if we want chocolate or something.”

Remy crooked an eyebrow. “Is dat a hint, chère?”

Jubilee grinned widely, showing all her teeth. “Pleeeeeease?”

Remy set the cards in his pocket. “All righ’,” he granted. “On one condition.”

“Yesss!” Jubilee pumped her fists. “What condition?” she asked, back straightened, eyes bright.

“Mahne has peanut buttah.”

Jubilee saluted. “Yes sir! Be right back!” She exited much the same way she had last time.

“Wait!” the prince called after her; she ignored him. “What about me!?”

“Maybeh if you’re nice,” Remy said, putting away the food, “Jubilee’ll share.”

He didn’t need to look to know the prince was pouting.

* * *

This entire crew was nothin’ but happy-go-luckys. Logan would be willing to bet none of them knew how to properly use or care for half the equipment on-board. There seemed to be two captains, because the redhead named Pepper wore the captain’s hat and gave a lot of orders to the crew, but the blond named Steve was usually referred to as ‘Cap’ or some variation, and he gave a fair amount of orders as well. Both of them were distracted by their muscular boyfriends. They formed an interesting team, and to be fair, they did get the ship sailing. But the whole affair was disorganized and haphazard.

Logan lit a cigarette and strode over to the large blond man at the helm. “You remember where yer goin’?”

“Yes!” boomed Thor. He recited the directions.

Logan clapped him on the back. “Good man.”

Thor clapped him on the back much too hard, sending him sprawling for balance. He recovered, rubbing between his shoulderblades. He grunted.

“He’s stronger than he looks,” pointed out Peggy helpfully.

“Yeah. I noticed.”

“And he looks pretty strong,” added Angie with an admiring glance at Thor’s upper body.

Peggy cleared her throat.

Angie whacked her shoulder. Peggy grinned.

Happy couples _everywhere._

He stood next to AnnMarie. “You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?” He glanced over his shoulder at Peggy and Angie, who were holding hands and laughing at something. “-Or a girlfriend?” he added.

AnnMarie laughed. “No! I’m just as single as can be.”

“Good. I can use some sane company.”

“-Not that I don’t want one,” AnnMarie added in an almost-mumble.

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Girlfriend or boyfriend?”

AnnMarie punched him in the shoulder. “Boyfriend!”

Logan smiled. “Good.” He admired the way the wind blew a white curl back from her forehead.

“I take it you don’t have one either?”

Logan smirked. “No. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“How ‘bout a girlfriend?”

Logan’s smile spread. “Nope.” He rested against the guard rail. “And I don’t want one.”

“You don’t? Why not?”

“Not big on commitment.”

“Well that’s too bad.” AnnMarie tossed her hair back over her shoulders. “Good lookin’ guy like you could probably git one if he wanted to.”

“Yeah?” Logan raised an eyebrow. “Good lookin’ girl like you could get a girlfriend too. –Or a boyfriend.”

“I told you, I want a boyfriend!” She shoved his elbow.

Logan puffed on his cigarette and stared out at sea.

“..You really think I’m good lookin’?”

“Course.” Logan held his cigarette between his fingers and let the smoke trail lazily up. “Why do you think I stood next to ya?”

* * *

The prince was surprisingly quiet that night. It was a welcome change.

After Jubilee had left, he’d been so obnoxious and whiney, Remy had picked up an old copy of _A Christmas Carol_ and shoved it in his hands, saying, “Here! You wanna learn abou’ wha’ it’s like tu live in povahty? Read tha’!”

And the prince had been silent ever since, engrossed in the novel. Remy peeked over at him every so often to see the prince’s brow furrowed in concentration, eyes darting back and forth across the pages.

The prince had barely noticed when Jubilee set down a bar of chocolate next to him. He’d glanced up, said “Thanks,” and kept reading.

Even now, the bar sat by the prince’s knee, untouched. It was the longest he’d ever gone without moving.

Remy was finding it hard to concentrate on his own novel, _Robinson Crusoe,_ because the prince’s reactions were much more captivating than the words he’d read over two or three times already. He could tell what part the prince was at just by watching his expression and his posture shift. Every inch of him was so expressive. It almost made Remy want to do things, just to get a reaction out of him.

“You haven’t touched your chocolate bar,” pouted Jubilee.

“Huh?” The prince glanced up at her, dazed.

“Your chocolate bar?” Jubilee held it up and waved between his face and the book.

“Oh. Yeah,” the prince said absently. He kept reading.

Jubilee sighed. “Whatever.”

Remy’s eyes softened. He felt his lips tug up on one side. He closed his eyes and shook his head, and tried very hard to concentrate on _Robinson Crusoe._

* * *

Peggy and Angie stood on-deck watching the stars emerge in the twilight sky. Their hands overlapped on the wooden railing. Peggy felt lighter than she had in years. “Angie?” she said softly.

“Yeah Peg?”

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you…”

Angie faced Peggy with her full attention, hair blowing gently in the warm night breeze. “What is it, Peg?”

Peggy took a breath. This was going to be difficult to get out. “You changed my life,” she said, voice cracking. She looked up and blinked away the gathering tears. “When I met you…” Peggy paused and let out a brief, self-conscious laugh. Angie squeezed her hand. Peggy went on, “When I met you, I’d.. lost myself, somewhere along the line. –Bad things had happened to me, and I suppose I’d let them get the best of me. But you… You reminded me, of what I’d left behind, of what sort of life I could’ve had… And…” Peggy was finding it harder and harder to talk. The tears kept coming.

Angie pulled her into a hug. “Aw, Peg.” She gave Peggy a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay..”

“No, it’s not!” Peggy sniffled against Angie’s sweet-smelling neck; she smelt of violets. “I was a killing machine, Angie! I didn’t care about right and wrong anymore! But you changed all that! When I met you…!”

“I know, Peg,” Angie said softly. She smiled and wiped away Peggy’s tears with her thumb. “You changed me too.”

“I love you, Angie.”

Angie’s smile softened. “I love you too, Peg.”

“No, Angie, I.. I _love_ you.” Peggy searched Angie’s warm blue eyes.

Angie shook her head, smiling. “I know,” she repeated. “I love you too.”

“But.. you’re..!”

“I’m what? Too sweet and perfect and good-looking for you? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure that’s your line, and either way it’s bullshit.”

Peggy laughed and sobbed at the same time.

“Hey,” Angie said softly. “Come here.”

Peggy let Angie guide her into her arms once more. Angie held her and stroked her hair until Peggy’s tears faded away. “I thought I’d never see you again,” Peggy confessed.

Angie tilted her head so their eyes met. “Life coulda gone all kinds of ways,” she said frankly. “But I’m here, and you’re here, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on leavin’ any time soon.”

Peggy smiled at her. “So you’ll stay?”

Angie wiped away Peggy’s tears. “Couldn’t chase me away if you tried.”

Peggy laughed quietly. “As if I’d ever try.”

Angie’s eyes shone lavender and periwinkle in the soft evening light. She searched Peggy’s face warmly as the seconds of silence stretched between them. One side of Angie’s mouth tugged up gently. She tucked a stray curl behind Peggy’s ear, leaned down, and kissed her softly.

* * *

Johnny set down  _A Christmas Carol_ gently, with an air of reverence. “Is that really what it’s like?” he asked, voice soft.

Remy glanced up from _Robinson Crusoe_. “Well Ah don’ have a Scrooge tu answer to, bu’ yes. Tha’s wha’ it’s like.”

“Wow,” Johnny whispered, staring pensively off into space. There were people starving, and dying, because they didn’t have enough money. They didn’t have the means to get all the food and comfort that Johnny was given every day, without question. He’d had no idea people lived like that. That people were cold, or hungry— _all the time._ “I thought it was bad when the fireplace in my room wasn’t stoked high enough in the winter,” he said. “I had no idea some people—wow.”

“Yeah well, luckily it doesn’ ge’ tha’ cold often in de bayou. We don’ ge’ much snow around here.”

“Yeah I mean… not in the castle, either. We don’t get much snow. But.. wow.”

Remy studied him across the room. The treehouse was lit by candlelight. What that candlelight did to Remy’s features was absolutely breathtaking. Everything about him looked warmer and softer. His face could have been chiseled from marble, but even marble would’ve looked soft in this light.

Remy set _Robinson Crusoe_ aside. “Dere are entire graveyahds full of th’ ones who couldn’ affohd tu make it t’ru de wintah. Or people who got so hungry, dey hunted gators—an’ de gators won.”

Johnny studied him. “..Is that what happened to your family?”

“Wha’?” Remy’s perfect eyebrows drew together over his perfect nose.

“You live alone, right? Except for Jubilee? –What happened to your family?” Family had been a very important theme in _A Christmas Carol_. It was almost enough to make Johnny miss his own family, though Susan was really the only family he had.

“..Mah family disowned meh.” He roughly picked up _Robinson Crusoe_ again and held it like he was about to start reading again.

“What? Why?” Remy was trying to ignore him again, but Johnny really wanted to know. He crossed the room and gently lowered the book until Remy met his eyes. “What happened?”

Remy stared at him for a long moment, face unreadable. Johnny wished his ‘pokah face’ wasn’t so good, because he really wanted to know what Remy was feeling. Remy slowly raised one hand and pointed at the side of his face. “You see dese eyes, mon ami?”

“Yeah,” Johnny said softly, admiring how they shone like rubies in the candlelight.

“Ah was born like dis. Mah parents thought Ah was a demon. So dey disowned me.”

Johnny’s eyebrows came together. His lips parted.

Remy went on, “Ah was raised by foster parents who _also_ t’ought Ah was cursed. Ah was on de streets when Ah was only ten years old.” His eyes were cold and distant. “Ah had tu learn how tu get by on mah own. So Ah became a t’ief.” He met Johnny’s eyes with stony challenge.

“Remy,” Johnny whispered, eyes half-closed, leaning closer.

Remy stopped Johnny’s shoulders and turned his head to the side. “Ah t’ink,” he said quietly, “it’s tahme fo’ bed.”

Johnny licked his lips and traced a longing path up Remy’s neck and jawline with his eyes. “Yeah,” he agreed. He shouldn’t be thinking about that. He swallowed and said “yeah” again, backing away.

He felt Remy’s eyes on him as he crossed the room, but by the time he reached his blanket, Remy had blown out the candle closest to him and was facing the wall, back turned to him.

“Good night,” Johnny said so softly he wasn’t sure Remy could hear. He blew out the candle nearest to him and fell asleep to the image of Remy’s neck illuminated by candlelight.

* * *

“Where do we go first?” asked Natalia.

“Where else?” answered Doctor Ivchenko. “The closest vault.”

“Did he say what’s in it?” asked Dottie, eyes ever-wide, head tilted to the side.

“He did not.” Doctor Ivchenko took out the map. “But I can get that information, if you would like.”

Dottie examined the map hungrily. “Wow! Seven of them!”

“Yes.. The closest one is here.” Doctor Ivchenko pointed.

“But there’s no land there,” said Dottie with a pout.

“There’s tons of uncharted islands,” said Natalia. “They aren’t owned by anyone, so no one ever put them on the map. Most of them are considered too small or too far away to be politically useful.”

“Really,” said Dottie with fake interest.

“Shall I give the order?” Doctor Ivchenko asked Dottie.

Dottie smiled eerily up at him. “I think I’ll drive there myself.”

* * *

Natalia waited until she heard Dottie’s soft breaths even out to indicate sleep. She rolled silently out of her bunk and padded down the hallway and out onto the deck. The night was dark, the moon a sliver, the sky cloudy.

She was alone.

Natalia surveyed the deck with keen eyes to make absolutely _sure_ she was alone.

Satisfied, she turned on the signaling beacon and tapped out .- .-. . / -.-- --- ..- / - .... . .-. . ..--..

She waited.

Way off in the distance, a light flickered -.-- . ... .-.-.- / ... - .- - ..- ... ..--..

Natalia smirked. .-- . / .... .- ...- . / ... - .- .-. -.- .-.-.- she signaled.

.-- .... .. -.-. .... / ... - .- .-. -.- ..--.. came the reply.

Natalia answered, .... --- .-- .- .-. -.. .-.-.-

.- -. -.. / .... .. ... / .. -. ...- . -. - .. --- -. ... ..--..

Natalia glanced over her shoulder. She’d heard a noise. But it was just a seagull landing on the deck. “выходить.”The bird ruffled its wings and stared at her. She kicked at the bird.

The message repeated. .- -. -.. / .... .. ... / .. -. ...- . -. - .. --- -. ... ..--..

Natalia captured the bird, snapped its neck, and threw it overboard. --- -. / --- ..- .-. / .-- .- -.-- .-.-.- she answered.The light across the way signaled . -..- -.-. . .-.. .-.. . -. - .-.-.-Natalia switched off the signal and padded to bed. Dottie slept on, undisturbed.


	6. Chapter 6

“So when do we give them the ransom note?” asked Jubilee over breakfast the next morning.

“No’ yet,” said Remy, taking another mouthful of pancake. “Dey not worried enough, chère. Let ‘em worry anothah day or so.”

Jubilee sighed. “And _then_ we give them the ransom note?”

“Tell you wha’.” Remy took a sip of orange juice. “Ah’ll write one tonigh’. Ya can delivah it tomorrow.”

“Really?” Jubilee grinned.

“Ah’d say ya’ve earned it.”

“Earned what?” The prince rejoined them, fresh from the washroom. His hair was damp, his cheeks flushed, skin glistening, and he smelled like soap and clean skin. Remy found himself tracing the prince’s figure from ankle to chest and stopped himself before he could get back to the prince’s face.

“-A walk, in de woods,” Remy answered without thinking.

“Really?” The prince brightened. “You mean I can get out of here?”

“Jus’ for de afternoon. An’ only undah supahvision.”

“Hot dog!” the prince exclaimed. He plopped down heavily at the table and shoveled pancakes into his mouth.

“And _you’re_ gonna be the one supervising him?” Jubilee guessed, a slight lilt to her voice.

Remy frowned at her. “You’re too young.”

Jubilee raised an eyebrow and looked purposely between Remy and the prince. “Uh huh. _That’s_ the reason.”

“Wha’ you tryin’ tu get at, chère?” Remy asked dangerously.

“Oh nothing,” said Jubilee in that lilting voice again.

The prince glanced up curiously, clearly had no idea what Jubilee was alluding to, dismissed the thought, and continued devouring pancakes.

Remy was grateful for the prince’s thick skull. He leveled another warning look at Jubilee.

Jubilee met his eyes with all the knowing confidence a fifteen-year-old could muster.

“So,” said the prince, finishing his last mouthful of pancakes, “when do we start?”

* * *

“So,” said Daniel Sousa, “guess you don’t need me anymore.”

“Nonsense!” Peggy objected. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

Daniel gestured with his crutch. “Maybe the fact that you’ve found the love of your life?” Peggy and Angie hadn’t let go of each other’s hands for three days now. Peggy still sat next to him at dinner, but lately all her attention had been lavished onto Angie. And Daniel really couldn’t blame her, Angie was one dynamite gal.

“Well yes,” Peggy replied, “I have, but that doesn’t make you any less important!”

Daniel raised his eyebrows. “It kind of does.”

“Daniel,” Peggy admonished, but she couldn’t seem to find the words to argue.

Angie squeezed Peggy’s hand. “I thought you two were best friends?”

“We were,” Daniel said, “but the way things were going, I was kind of hoping we’d be more than that.”

“Daniel,” Peggy said again.

“No,” Daniel said, “it’s okay. I know. –It was probably wrong of me to hope you’d get over someone like that. And now that you’ve found her, I wish you the best.” He gave them a pained smile. “I’m just not sure where I fit in.”

“How about as my friend?” Peggy offered. “And Steve’s friend? And Bucky’s friend?”

“And my friend too,” Angie added, “if you want.”

Daniel smiled sadly. He was silent for a long moment. “..You know why I joined the military?” he began. He met both their eyes before he went on. “I was hoping to make some money, do some good, fight the good fight. And then, I was hoping to meet someone beautiful, and smart; someone I could talk to. And I wanted to marry that girl.” He smiled sadly at Peggy and looked away. “I wanted a house, and kids, the whole nine yards. ..Guess that’s out of the picture now.”

“It’s not,” Peggy insisted.

“Isn’t it though?” Daniel gestured to his leg. “I’m a one-legged pirate. I have no home. I’m legally dead. How am I supposed to live that life now?”

“Maybe you’ll meet someone,” Peggy said. “We can work it out.”

Daniel shook his head, smiling sadly. “I guess I gotta let some dreams go.”

* * *

“I never knew my family either,” Johnny admitted. They’d been walking for about half an hour now, mostly staying in the same area. Not that Johnny didn’t love the view of the pasture with the lone black pony, but he was used to more… interesting surroundings. The pony was currently grazing in the sunlight, shoulders shivering occasionally to ward off flies.

“Non?” Remy asked, only half-believing him.

“No,” Johnny answered. “My parents were more figureheads than anything, really. I mean, they’re king and queen. They have like—royal stuff to do all the time. Laws and politics and stuff—you know, _boring_ stuff. That I have _no_ interest in. –So since they’ve been busy doing that all the time, I was pretty much raised by my sister, and my tutors and personal trainers and stuff. Never really had a family. I mean, yeah, except my sister, but… the family in that book, they _cared_ about each other. I kinda think my sister hates me half the time. I’ve ever felt that warm and fuzzy about anyone.” _But I’m starting to…_

Remy watched a small butterfly flutter across their path. “In othah words, no’ only do ya lack any sort a’ information tha’ woul’ be helpful in runnin’ a kingdom, you’re completely lackin’ in empathy as well?”

“Well jeez! When you put it that way, you make me sound bad!”

Remy leveled him with a look.

Johnny held up his hands. “Okay, no. I don’t know anything I’m supposed to, to be king. But I am not _completely_ lacking in empathy!”

“No? Den name _one_ person ya’d lay down your life for.”

“What?! Okay whoa! Who said anything about dying?! I don’t want to die! I’m too young and attractive to die!”

Remy stared ahead, unimpressed. “No one, then?”

“No!! Jeez! I’m empathetic, not suicidal!”

“Ya don’ have tu be suicidal tu value someone else’s life above ya own.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t.”

Remy grunted as though that settles that.

But Johnny wasn’t done. “Okay what about you?! Who would _you_ lay down your life for?”

Remy stared quietly ahead. “..No one.”

“BOOM! Who’s lacking in empathy now!”

Remy shot him a sideways glance. “Ah wouldn’ die fo’ anyone because Ah work alone. Ah can’ affohd tu get attached tu anyone. Attachmen’ only makes it hardah tu move from place tu place, an’ puts whoever Ah’m attached tu in dangah.”

“What about Jubilee?”

“Jubilee is learnin’ how tu get by on her own. Once she knows how, we split ways.”

“..Yeah, that sounds _really_ empathetic.” Johnny rolled his eyes. “Hypocrite,” he mumbled.

“No’ getting attached tu people is de empathetic t’ing tu do!” Remy argued.

“Uh, no. You wouldn’t die for anyone. In fact, you avoid people just as much as I do. –Well okay, ‘avoid’ is a weird word, more like… we approach them all the time, but the second they start to get close, it’s like ‘whoa okay, back off now.’ You know what I mean? Like, say you meet this hot babe. And you wanna have this really hot one night stand, right? So you bring her to some nice place, wine and dine her. You have hot wall-banging sex. But then she wants to cuddle, and she thinks just because you slept with her, that means you wanna start a _relationship_ , but you’re like ‘Um no.’ and she gets all bummed, but like, that’s just the way it is. Right?”

Remy stared at him, wearing a vaguely displease poker face. “Ya ahre a slimeball.”

“Uhh ex _cuse_ me? What would you _rather_ I do, promise fake relationships with every woman I sleep with?”

“How abou’ _not_ seducin’ every woman left an’ righ’?”

“What’s the matter, you jealous?” Somehow they had wound up nearly nose-to-nose again. “’Cause you really don’t seem like the self-righteous type. Please. A charming thief? _Tell_ me you haven’t seduced at _least_ one woman every now and then and done the _exact_ same fucking thing.”

“Ah do it fo’ money. _Ya_ do it fo’ pleasure.” He jabbed Johnny in the chest with his pointer finger.

“Like you never get any pleasure out of it?” Johnny challenged.

“At least Ah’m not doin’ it fo’ purely selfish reasons!”

“Oh, you’re not?” Johnny’s voice had gone deadly quiet. “’Cause you could’ve fooled me. If wanting sex and money isn’t selfish, what is? _Enlighten_ me.”

“Ya ahre a fool, Johnny Storm.” Remy’s voice had gone quiet too.

“Yeah?” Johnny asked, suddenly not caring about the argument anymore. He rubbed their noses ever-so-slightly as he tilted his head and brushed their lips together, barely touching. Remy’s lips parted and he released a hot puff of air against Johnny’s lower lip. Johnny pressed their lips just the slightest bit closer.

“Yeah,” Remy whispered, taking Johnny by the shoulders and pushing him gently away. His pupils were crowding out his beautiful red irises. “Ya ahre,” he said softly.

“So are you,” Johnny whispered. He’d never wanted to kiss anyone so badly in his life, and body language didn’t lie. Remy wanted it too.

Remy turned away from him. “Le’s get back tu de treehouse.”

* * *

Logan was relieved to be away from the ship and keeping company with the least nauseating person on-board. As soon as they’d docked, Logan had explained, “No hard feelings, but the fewer of us out there lookin’ for him, the less likely he is to get spooked. AnnMarie knows the terrain, so she’s comin’ with me. The rest of you… Don’t wander too far.”

“Not a problem!” Tony had retorted with bitter sarcasm. He was still sore about the whole being-bound-to-a-cranky-mermaid-for-life thing.

“Are you sure two people is going to be enough?” Edwin Jarvis had fretted. “What if you run into trouble?”

“Who am I gonna take with me, _you?”_ Logan had raised an eyebrow.

Edwin Jarvis had fretted, spluttering random syllables, his cheeks blotchy with shame. ‘Cap’ Rogers had stepped forward and repeated Jarvis’s concern; Bucky had stood close next to him, making it blatant that he was a package deal—if Steve went, so did he. No arguments.

“No offense,” Logan had said, activating his trademark ‘claw’ with a _shink_ , so the three long blades on each hand glinted in the sunlight, “but I can handle myself. –Let’s go,” he said to AnnMarie.

She proved to be less helpful than he would have liked. Turned out AnnMarie hadn’t been here for the past fifteen years, and her knowledge of the topography was a little more than sketchy, but the advantage to having her there was she was completely comfortable talking to the natives. She understood their accents and their slang like she’d been born speaking it.

And she wasn’t exactly objectionable company. Legs up to here, curves that could stop traffic. Logan found himself eyeing her on several occasions, but she was either oblivious or indifferent; she never reacted.

“We’re gettin’ close,” Logan grunted. “I can smell ‘im.”

AnnMarie gave him a weird look. “You can _smell_ him?! What kinda animal are you!?”

“They call me Wolverine,” Logan deadpanned. He stopped and sniffed the air. “That way.”

* * *

The prince seemed to have picked up on Remy’s unfortunate attraction to him, and was currently being as distracting as humanly possible. Remy was  _trying_ to pen a ransom note, but motion kept catching his eye, and every time he looked up, he regretted it. Johnny— _the prince_ would unfailingly be draped or posed in some new, ridiculously flattering position, and watching Remy with a casual expression. Every so often, he’d smile a little and say “What?”

And Remy would frown and return to his ransom note, only to find his pen had trailed, he’d misspelled a word or left a word out, and he had to crumple it up and start a new one.

Johnny was currently draped in a position which left his chest open, his fingers dangling invitingly, his legs spread, and his head tilted just so. The candlelight caught his eyelashes and cast fringed shadows on his cheekbones.

Remy crumpled up his latest mess and threw it across the room. “Do ya wan’ tu be rescued or not!!” he shouted.

Just his luck, Jubilee had gone for the night, and he was left _alone_ with him.

J— _the prince_ ’s lips curled into a slow smile, his eyes glimmering. “What’s the matter, Remy?” he asked, voice low. He shifted his hips, subtly drawing attention to his not-so-subtle crotch.

Remy slammed his hands down on the table. “Ya know very well wha’s wrong! Ya won’ stop movin’! Ya ahre sittin’ dere on purpose, an’ every tahme Ah try tu write, ya move again!”

Johnny lifted an eyebrow. “Do I?” he asked in that infuriatingly sexy voice. The heat in his eyes could melt the wax off a candle.

“Yes! Ya do!”

Johnny stretched and repositioned again, moving his hips just so. He managed to make a sexy noise while doing it too. He rested his chin on one hand. “So sorry,” he murmured. “Please continue.”

Remy shuffled around the table so he was sitting in the chair facing _away_ from The Prince, wetted his pen, and tried to remember what he was supposed to be writing.

-Right.

His pen started looping across the page, informing the king and queen for the dozenth time that he was holding their son hostage, and he demanded a large sum of money in exchange for their son’s releas—

Johnny’s hands were on his shoulders and his chest was hovering just behind Remy’s shoulderblade. “Whatchu writing?” Johnny asked in a casual tone, but the timbre of his voice was just as ridiculously sexy as he could possibly make it.

Remy turned his head to the side ever-so-slightly, only to find his nose an inch from the light stubble grazing Johnny’s jawline. “Your ransom note,” he ground out.

“Hmmm,” Johnny hummed. He leaned a little closer and turned so their lips were almost touching. “You know you don’t have to do that, right? I’ll pay you whatever you want.”

“Tha’s no’ how dis works,” Remy forced out between gritted teeth, determined to move his lips as little as possible.

“Mmhmm,” Johnny said, eyes caressing his face. “But it could be.” He leaned a little closer.

Remy’s traitorous heartbeat pounded harder and his eyes caught on Johnny’s lush pink lips. _No._ He tore his gaze away.

“I can give you _anything you want,_ ” Johnny purred.

“Fix de economy,” Remy ground out.

Johnny released a puff of air. “Don’t tell me you blame _me_ for that. My parents are the ones in charge of the kingdom, not _me._ And they’re not even that old. So they’re probably gonna be around for a while. By the time I’m on the throne, I could be, like, fifty. You don’t wanna wait that long…” His voice returned to its seductive pitch at the end.

Remy realized he was right. Of course he was right. If he wanted the economy to be fixed, the ones he needed to be talking to were the king and the queen. But the king and queen would never liste—Johnny was leaning closer again, eyes sincere. “You don’t wanna wait at all,” he murmured.

“Ah can wait all Ah want,” Remy insisted, but even as he said it he knew it wasn’t what he meant. He contemplated asking for the royals to fix the economy in exchange for their son, but that could take _years_. But… maybe being stuck with Johnny for years wouldn’t be an.. _entirely_ bad thing…

“No you can’t,” Johnny whispered, brushing their lips together.

“-Did I come at a bad time?” interrupted a voice Remy hadn’t heard in years.

Remy spun around to face “Wolverine!”

“Swamp rat,” Logan returned, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed.

“How’d ya find meh?”

Logan examined his knuckles. “I followed the trail of broken hearts. –You workin’ on another one?”

Remy smoothed his hair back. “Dis is de crown prince. Ah’m holdin’ him fo’ ransom.”

“Uh huh,” said Logan doubtfully. He shrugged, not caring. “Well, I’ve got another mission for ya.”

Remy smirked. “Ya need meh tu track someone down?”

“Yeah. A man named Howard Stark. Last seen somewhere near the coast of South America.”

Remy hummed. “Ah’ll need a ship tu take meh tu mah contacts in de Atlantic.”

“Already taken care of.”

Remy glanced over his shoulder at Johnny. “What do ya say, mon ami?” he said, louder than he’d spoken since last time he’d yelled at him not ten minutes ago. “Want tu go sailing?”

Johnny raised an eyebrow. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really,” Remy confirmed, “no.”

Johnny’s eyes traced a slow, hot trail over Remy’s face, neck, shoulders, chest… and back up to his face again. “Guess I’m going sailing,” he said in an inappropriately low voice.

Logan cleared his throat. “Great. We leave port tonight.”

Remy gathered his things. He left a note for Jubilee, explaining where he’d gone and that he didn’t know when he’d be back. He wished her luck and promised he’d find her again someday.

He left the note on her pillow. “Le’s go.”

* * *

“Tony,” said Thor, as gently as the thunderous man could manage.

“No!”

“Just _talk_ to him!” Pepper pleaded.

“No!!” Tony’s arms were folded over his perpetually glowing chest. The damn thing was impossible to sleep with. It was like he had this night light that would never turn off. Not to mention it bound him to the ocean, or more specifically, to the world’s crankiest mermaid. Who he hated. Even if he _was_ ethereally beautiful and had skin like cold marble and eyes like twin emeralds, and a voice like silky black velvet, and even if he _was_ way too beautiful for a man and made Tony feel all funny on the inside. Not that Tony had ever cared about his sexuality. But this guy questioned gender roles as a whole and it made Tony want to kiss the fuck out of him—er. It made Tony angry. Very, very angry. Yeah. That was the feeling.

“Loki has done you no harm,” said Thor. “He only meant to help.” Thor was reaching out, as though to touch Tony’s shoulder with his overly large hand.

“No!” Tony swatted Thor’s hand away. “I don’t care!”

“Tony!” Pepper said sharply. “He saved your _life._ ”

“What if I didn’t want to be saved, huh? Did he ever think of that?”

“Tony!” Pepper paled.

Thor drew his arm around Pepper’s shoulders and frowned at Tony; for the first time, he found the mountainous man truly intimidating.

“Great. You’re both against me. How is this my life?” Tony said, mostly to himself. He sighed loudly, as though the world was a burden he alone had to bear and no one seemed to understand. “Fine. I’ll talk to him.” He ignored whatever goopy expressions they were probably making and went to the side of the boat. “Yo. Fish-boy.”

No response.

Not even a ripple.

Tony turned away from the water. “See? He doesn’t want to talk to me either.”

Thor glared at him, eyes icy and adamant.

Tony flinched and gestured to the water. “Well what am I supposed to do? He’s not there!”

“Yes I am,” Loki said softly.

Tony whirled to face him, heart racing. “Jeez! Make a splash or something! Don’t just _appear_ like that!”

“Sorry,” Loki said, looking down.

Tony groaned and swiped both his hands over his face. _How is this my life?_

“You called me?” Loki said quietly.

“Yeah. I called you. –Ugh, fuck this.” Tony stripped off his shirt, boots, socks, and pants. And his underwear because _why the fuck not_.

“Tony?” Loki called softly from below.

“Geronimo!!” Tony cannonballed into the water.

Loki shielded his face from the splash and blinked wide-eyed at the newly naked Tony Stark.

“Ever go for a night swim?” Tony asked, backstroking in circles around the startled mermaid. “It’s quite refreshing. –Here, you try.”

“I am a merperson, Tony. I swim all the time.”

“Great! You’ve already got a head start. –Hey, race you to shore.”

“But..! There are people,” Loki started to object, but Tony shouted, “Come on!” and started power stroking. Loki had no choice but to follow.

* * *

Loki let Tony win.

Tony sat in the shallows, illuminated chest heaving with every breath. “You jackass, you totally let me win!” He panted. “Best two out of three.” He made to start swimming again, but Loki laid a finger on his arm and murmured “Tony…”

Water dripped from Tony’s hair, landing on his nose. He panted and frowned at Loki, taking in the unearthly beauty of Loki in the moonlight. “You know this lighting makes your skin even _more_ pale?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “You are avoiding something,” Loki pointed out gently.

Tony sighed, hands on his knees. This position left his crotch totally open, but Tony couldn’t care less. Let him look. “..Why did you save my life?”

“Because,” Loki started, but cut himself off, blinking, as though he really didn’t know why. His mouth snapped shut. He sucked on that bottom, pale lip.

Tony opened up his stance. “Because why?” He dropped a leg and leaned towards Loki. A warm twitch against his thigh— eh. Let him look.

Loki did look at Tony’s shoulders, his chest, his arms. He wetted his lips. Their eyes met. “Because,” he said with conviction.

Tony scooted closer and leaned towards him. “Because why?”

“I couldn’t let you die.” Loki’s expression was soft and scared.

Tony decided, _fuck it._ “Couldn’t get enough of me huh?” he murmured, leaning into Loki’s space.

“That’s— I, I didn’t— Tony, what-?”

Tony silenced him with a kiss.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is definitely NSFW.

Loki’s lips were cold and surprisingly soft. For some reason Tony had expected Loki’s skin to feel like marble, but instead it just felt like skin. He tasted salty, like sea water. And his whole body was stiff, tense, startled.. until… He felt Loki start to give in, and next thing he knew, Loki was dragging his cold hands up Tony’s back, which made Tony shiver, and Loki was pulling him underwater.

Tony heard Pepper shout “Tony!” before his head went underwater.

And at first, Tony held his breath. He could hold his breath for two full minutes, he wasn’t too worried.

But then the weirdest thing happened. Loki had _air_ in his mouth, and he was _pushing it into Tony’s mouth_. Tony breathed in through his mouth and exhaled through his nose. Loki kissed him with more depth and more urgency, encouraging Tony to keep taking these mouthfuls of air. Tony had no idea how long they stayed under. Honestly he didn’t really care. This was one of the coolest things that had ever happened to him.

He was almost sorry when Loki broke away from his mouth and frowned at him. He sat up and brought Tony to the surface so Tony could breathe normally. “What is that?”

Tony frowned. “What is what?”

“That,” Loki said awkwardly, “fleshy protuberance, against my tail. It’s… warm, and hard.”

“That would be my dick.”

“Your…” Loki flushed. “Oh.”

Tony leered. “Do you like it?” He pushed his dick against Loki’s tail.

Loki blinked. “I’m.. afraid I have no idea what to do with it.”

“Meh. Just leave it for now,” Tony said, chasing after Loki’s lips again.

The grass on-shore rustled. Loki’s eyes widened and he froze.

Tony cursed whoever-or-whatever it was and glared up at the intruder.

The intruder happened to be Logan and AnnMarie, followed closely by some tall reddish-haired guy in a tan overcoat and some blond guy in expensive-looking clothes. The blond guy was staring at the reddish-haired guy like the sun shone out of his ass. “Welcome back,” Tony said with a smile that was fake as fuck.

“Great to be back,” Logan replied in his perpetually gravelly voice. Like seriously did the guy eat rocks for breakfast? What’s with the rasp? “Hope we’re not interrupting anything,” Logan said with this cheeky little smile that said he really didn’t give a shit and was probably enjoying it. Well fuck him.

“You kind of are, actually.”

The blond guy was staring at Tony and Loki now. He seemed confused. Well he could _stay_ confused.

“The ship is that way.” Tony pointed.

“Oh, I know,” said Logan, in no hurry to leave. “I just don’t want to miss this.”

Tony frowned. “Miss what?”

“Tony!” Pepper exclaimed, far closer than she should be. She had taken a rowboat out to Tony and Loki. Her face was pale and pinched, her eyes wide with worry. “I saw him take you under! I thought--! I thought--!”

“Is _everyone_ here for a front seat to my sex life? –Pepper, I’m fine. Go back to the ship. And take these idiots with you.”

Pepper blinked at him, affronted. She started to make odd noises, aborted words doomed never to be finished.

“Front seat to your--?” AnnMarie’s eyes widened. “Oh! My goodness, I didn’t realize--!” She covered her face with both hands, blushing.

The dude with the reddish hair burst out laughing.

“Wait,” said the blond guy, “but you’re two _dudes._ How does that even… _work?”_

The dude with reddish hair stopped laughing. The blond guy’s eyes tracked over to the reddish-haired dude and lingered there.

Logan cracked up.

The reddish-haired dude met the blond guy’s eyes and quickly looked at random points in space in the opposite direction.

“Aren’t you more interested,” Loki purred, suddenly all charm and slyness, “in how a man does it with a _mer_ person?” He fanned the tip of his tail out of the water seductively.

“I am _definitely_ interested in that,” Tony declared.

“And that’s our cue to go back to the ship!” declared a very flustered Pepper.

“I’m comin’ with you!” said AnnMarie, wading towards Pepper’s lifeboat.

Pepper rowed her boat a little closer to shore so the others wouldn’t have to wade so far.

Meanwhile, Loki draped himself all over Tony and made a show of licking up the side of his neck and cradling his chin with one finger, tail fin waving back and forth like a cat’s tail just above the surface.

Tony was definitely not complaining.

Once their boat was safely out of hearing distance, Tony turned to his suddenly amorous merboyfriendperson. “Loki! I didn’t know you had it in you!”

“Perhaps I would like it _in me_ ,” Loki murmured, nipping Tony’s ear.

“Well you know I’m all for that! Tell me where to stick it and I am all yours.”

Loki chuckled. “Sadly I cannot produce such a part without losing my powers.”

“Uh. What?”

“Humans can no longer do magic,” Loki murmured. “If I were to transform into a human so that I might be your lover, I would lose my magic. …I would lose the capability to ever transform back into a merperson. I would need someone else to do it for me.”

“Wait. So we can’t have sex?”

“…No.” Loki seemed to regret this. “I have been assigned the post of guardian to my older brother. I need my magic to keep him safe..”

“Uh. He seems plenty safe to me. –Huge muscles? Everyone loves him?” Tony examined Loki’s eyes. “-Come on! It would take a _hurricane_ to take him down!”

“And what if a hurricane did strike, Tony?”

Tony threw his hands up in exasperation. “Then he’d probably be the one who started it! –Come onnn, just the tip? Can I put it _any_ where?”

Loki pressed his lips together. After a moment of consideration, he offered, “Well… I am somewhat renowned for the things I can do with my tongue.”

Tony grinned. “Say no more!”

Loki held Tony in place by the shoulders. “-But not tonight.”

Tony pouted. “Why not?”

“Tonight, they already know you’re out here…” He nipped Tony’s ear. “I would rather not have an audience to hear your screams.”

“You think you can make me scream?” Tony challenged, _very_ interested.

“Perhaps,” Loki murmured, kissing down Tony’s neck. He abruptly pulled away, mouth pulled into a crooked smile. “But you’ll have to wait to find out.”

“You live to torture me.”

Loki chuckled. “I live for myself, and no one else.”

“So do I,” Tony stated with absolute confidence. But even as the words left his mouth, he knew they weren’t entirely true. When Loki had cast that spell, the two of them had become intricately connected. Tony was anxious to discover the exact nature of that connection.

* * *

Of course.

Of _course_ they were put in the same room.

Remy cursed Logan to the grave and back. All he’d said was, “We had a room prepared for ya. Didn’t know you’d be havin’ a companion.” And then his teeth had flashed in a grin and he’d said, “Guess you’ll have to share a bed.”

Remy had been about ready to personally carve Logan a new one when Pepper had interjected- sweet, lovely Pepper- and said they could make up the other cot in that room. As it turned out, there were bunk beds. Remy wouldn’t have to look at J— _the prince_ as he slept, wouldn’t risk the danger of sleeping side-by-side.

But first he had to make it through the fresh new torture of Johnny stripping slowly out of the majority of his clothes and claiming he “usually slept naked.” Remy couldn’t tear his eyes away and Johnny fucking _knew it._

“Problem?” Johnny asked in that way-too-sexy voice of his, leaning his chin against the top bunk where Remy was steadfastly trying to ignore him.

“Mah only problem is tha’ Ah’m stuck wit’ ya longah den Ah intended tu be.”

Johnny pushed out his bottom lip and said, “It’s not all bad, is it?” in a voice that shot heat through Remy like a bolt of lightning.

“Go tu bed.”

“Make me,” Johnny dared, lowering those sinful eyelashes o’ his.

“Ah’d rathah not.” Remy rolled onto his side, facing away from the walking temptation that was Johnny Storm.

Johnny hummed low in his throat and delicately ran his warm fingers from Remy’s shoulder down his arm, tracing the contours of his muscles. “That’s too bad…”

“It sho’ is isn’ it.” Remy drew his arm in closer.

Johnny sighed. His warm hand pulled away, and seemed to tug Remy’s heart along with it, because he felt this pull he ain’t _nevah_ felt before, an’ it seemed insistent on tuggin’ him straight towards that boy.

_You’re in deep watah, Remy LeBeau_.

He was hyper-aware of every noise Johnny made- Johnny padding across the floor, Johnny picking something up and putting it back down again, Johnny padding towards the beds, Johnny climbing into the lower bunk, Johnny shifting around and getting comfortable. Johnny sighing. Johnny rolling over.

Johnny punching his pillow and lying on his side, holding the pillow under one arm. Johnny pulling that pillow close and softly saying, “Good night, Remy.”

And fuck all the gators in the swamp, Remy wanted to climb right down there with him.

* * *

“Aren’t you glad we’re sleeping in the same room?” Bucky murmured into Steve’s neck.

“I sure am,” Steve murmured back, rucking up Bucky’s shirt.

Bucky took the hint and removed it with a smirk. His hair tumbled around his shoulders.

“Really loving the long hair,” Steve commented.

“Really loving the abs,” Bucky replied, marking a trail of searing kisses down Steve’s torso. He savored every shudder, every unsteady breath. He _especially_ loved it when Steve made one of those soft, appreciative noises, and his hands would twitch, unsure what to do with themselves. One hand found its way to the back of his head; the fingers tangled in his hair.

“Really loving _you_ ,” Steve said, gasping when Bucky tongued his bellybutton. Bucky smirked and laved his tongue across Steve’s happy trail, pulling a slow, hot stroke up from just next to the tip, where Steve’s dick lay heavy and hard against his stomach, back up to that perfect bellybutton. Steve tossed his head back and moaned.

“Love you too, Stevie,” Bucky said, sucking on the spot just below Steve’s bellybutton. His tongue swirled faster and faster until Steve’s breath hitched and his fingers tightened in Bucky’s hair.

“Bucky,” Steve whispered, pleading.

“Tell me what you want, Stevie,” Bucky murmured low, licking a slow, hot path next to Steve’s erection, first on one side, then the other, going from hip to abs, and once he reached the abs, he’d suck another possessive mark where no one else could see. Steve’s only response was a breathy noise and a desperate buck of his hips.

Bucky loved doing this so much. Getting Steve all worked up was definitely his favorite passtime. He was so fucking beautiful, skin glistening with sweat, eyebrows drawn together over his slightly-too-large nose, mouth hanging open in ecstasy. And that beautiful, perfect dick twitching, hot and heavy against Steve’s abdomen, already leaking pre-cum. Bucky pulled the tip towards him and tasted the salty liquid leaking from the tip. Steve shuddered deliciously. Bucky spread the pre-cum around with his tongue, wide and flat against the flushed head, softly stroking circles. He formed his tongue into a point and licked around the underside of the corona, lingering on the center where the frenulum was stretched taut. The high-pitched noises coming out of Steve’s mouth only served to spur him on in his teasing.

Finally, he took mercy on Steve and engulfed the tip with his hot mouth. Steve moaned loudly and grasped Bucky’s hair. Bucky sucked lightly, swirling his tongue around in feather-light strokes, using a little more pressure each time his tongue circled the tip. Steve breathed hard and unsteady, fingers twitching. Bucky dragged Steve’s dick deeper into his mouth and sucked as he pulled back. _“Bucky, please!”_ Steve rasped.

Bucky pulled his mouth off Steve’s dick. He rested the tip against his chin and grinned impishly up at him. “Please what, Stevie?”

“Please…!” Steve breathed. His chest was beautifully flushed, his eyes closed.

Bucky smirked. He stuck a finger in his mouth and liberally coated it with saliva. He knew _exactly_ what Steve wanted. He nudged Steve’s hole with the spit-slick finger. Steve whimpered and pushed against it.

“You want me to fuck you, Stevie?” Bucky rasped, working Steve open with first one finger, then two. “You wanna feel my dick inside you?”

Steve moaned loudly. _“Yes!”_ he whispered loudly, as though the breath was being punched out of him.

“Gotta open up for me, Stevie,” Bucky murmured, kissing Steve’s inner thigh, fingers still working him open. “Gotta get you all nice and loose so I can fit my dick inside you. God you’re so pretty Stevie. Got the prettiest dick…” Bucky continued murmuring explicit praises and kissing Steve’s inner thighs, his balls, his abs, until he could fit all four fingers in. Steve was absolutely _writhing._

“You ready for me, Stevie?” This was rhetorical; he knew Steve was ready. Bucky slicked himself up, positioned himself between Steve’s legs, and braced himself on his metal arm. He guided his dick against Steve’s hole with his flesh hand. Slowly, he circled the opening, teasing both himself and Steve in the process, but the sounds Steve made were _worth_ it.

Finally, _finally_ , he pushed in.

* * *

Remy didn’t know who was having sex in the next room, but whoever it was, he hated them.

He tried to block out the sounds with his pillow, but it didn’t work. He could hear the gasps and moans, someone murmuring in a husky voice, someone else’s voice rising in pitch, their voice breathy. He could hear the inevitable slap of skin against skin. It was the unmistakable sound of someone being fucked. Their desperate whimpers and moans were muffled by his pillow, but much as he willed them to stop, their sounds only grew in volume and pitch, until they both cried out each other’s names loudly.

( _“Bucky!”_ )

( _“Steve!”_ )

They cried out each other’s names repeatedly, skin slapping faster and faster until they established a rhythm. Whoever was bottoming was having the time of his life, if his rhythmic high-pitched whimpers were anything to go by.

Just when Remy was pretty sure they were going to go at it all night, they shouted each other’s names one last time.

Then they were breathing heavily, and their breathing slowed, accompanied by lots of wet kissing sounds. And then all he heard was the quiet sound of voices murmuring behind the wall, punctuated by the occasional chuckle, and _more_ kissing sounds.

He envied them so much. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they sounded so _happy_.

And it hurt, because Remy knew he could never have that.


	8. Chapter 8

The sun was bright, the sea was calm, and everywhere Bucky looked, there was another beautiful shade of blue. Every shade and every hue would forever remind him of Steve’s eyes. Bucky was glad Steve wasn’t officially Captain anymore, because that meant there were less demands placed on him, and more time that he could spend with Steve.

Steve was wearing his Serious expression. Bucky loved the way his brow furrowed, the way his jaw came forward, the fierce concentration in his eyes, and the way Steve’s entire body seemed to radiate Justice. Bucky turned with a soft smile to follow Steve’s gaze.

Steve was watching the two newest people on-board. The taller one with reddish-brown hair and a tan overcoat was migrating from crew member to crew member, face carved in a deep scowl. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He’d just finished speaking with Peggy, who was leaning very close to Angie. The two were attached at the hand and couldn’t stop smiling. Angie kissed Peggy on the cheek.

The reddish-haired guy stormed off towards Pepper, who was picking something up, but when she straightened, Thor come up behind her, took what she was carrying, and kissed her forehead. Pepper was flustered and uncertain what to do for a moment before recovering and returning to her task-at-hand. The reddish-haired guy did a quick 180 and headed instead towards Tony, but just past Tony in his field of vision was Steve and Bucky.

Bucky waved lazily with his sun-warmed metal hand.

The reddish-haired guys’ eyes narrowed and he turned his attention, instead, to Logan. He prowled towards Logan like he was about to give him a sizeable piece of his mind.

“Wonder what’s with that guy,” mused Bucky.

The other new person, a blond guy who looked a lot like Steve, but with fancier clothes and way more energy, trailed behind the reddish-haired guy like a lost puppy. The reddish-haired guy whirled around and snapped something angrily at the blond guy. The blond guy blinked, stunned, as the reddish-haired guy whirled back around and resumed his stormy prowl towards Logan.

“Lovers’ spat?” Bucky guessed.

“Maybe,” Steve replied uncertainly.

The blond guy watched the reddish-haired guy begin a conversation with Logan, who seemed gruff and vaguely amused, as usual. Logan was smoking a cigarette.

The blond guy slumped and trudged away from the reddish-haired guy, not walking anywhere in particular.

“What are their names?” Steve wondered.

“Don’t know.”

The blond guy was standing aimlessly near the side of the ship, trying to stay out of the way. Bucky felt the shift and set of Steve’s shoulders and raised his head. “You’re gonna go talk to him?”

“I’m gonna go talk to him,” Steve confirmed.

* * *

“Steve Rogers,” greeted a handsome blond guy, holding out his hand. He was followed closely by a man with a stubbly cleft chin and shoulder-length brown hair, parted down the middle, who Johnny could only guess was Bucky.

“Johnny Storm.” Johnny shook the guy’s hand warmly, pleased with his firm grip. “Crown prince of New Orleans.”

Steve smiled politely. “And this is Bucky,” Steve said, gesturing to his companion.

“Holy shit, is that a _metal arm?”_ Johnny had just noticed the intricate bronze-and-brass clockwork.

The gears in Bucky’s arm whirred as Bucky moved the arm to look at it. His expression turned really odd for a second, like he’d just noticed the arm was there himself.

Steve gave Bucky a very complicated look. There was an entire _novel_ of in that look.

Bucky’s answering expression was equally complicated.

“Where’d you get it?”

Bucky and Steve gave him two very different, very sharp looks.

“..You don’t wanna know,” said Bucky.

Steve seemed very concerned and was giving Bucky a worried look.

Bucky rolled his eyes and placed his metal arm around Steve’s waist with a soft smile. “I’m fine, Stevie.”

Steve didn’t seem entirely convinced.

“Uhh,” said Johnny, sure he was missing _a lot_ , “So that’s great. –Who are we looking for? Where are we going? What’s going on? ‘Cause all I know is Remy is looking for someone, and once we find that guy he’s gonna help us find _another_ guy, and I have no idea who either of those people are because for some reason Remy is mad at me, and I don’t know what I did because I’ve done pretty much everything he told me to, right? –I mean, okay, sometimes he tells me to leave him alone and I don’t, but he doesn’t really _want_ me to leave him alone, don’t ask me how I know, I just _know_ , I’m very good with gauging people, okay? –Okay, that’s probably not very convincing, just _trust_ me on this, I have chatted up _thousands_ of women and I definitely know a thing or two about whether someone is interested in me, and he is _definitely_ interested, so I don’t know why he’s avoiding me, but I’m pretty sure he’s trying to convince himself he hates me for some reason, he keeps coming up with excuses and saying all this stuff about how I’m a selfish asshole, and I _want_ to learn more about him, but he keeps shutting me out. –So! Where are we going?”

Steve blinked.

Bucky was silent for a moment, then started laughing.

“What!” Johnny said, not sure why Bucky was laughing at him.

Bucky laughed harder and snorted into Steve’s shoulder.

Steve was still blinking. “Uh,” Steve said, brows knit together, “We’re.. looking for Howard Stark.”

Johnny had no clue who Howard Stark was. “Is he a friend of yours?”

“You could say that,” Steve said slowly.

“Why d’you need Remy for that? Does Remy know Howard Stark? –Oh no wait, Remy knows about the _other_ guy who’s gonna help you find Howard Stark. But why didn’t you just talk to that guy? –Unless you don’t _know_ that guy. But then why would you need one guy to look for another guy to look for _another_ guy? Why can’t you just find Howard? Unless Howard is in some sort of deep shit—Holy shit! Is Howard Stark a spy?!?”

Bucky was laughing so hard into Steve’s shoulder that he was crying.

“No,” Steve answered shortly.

“Oh.” Johnny pondered this.

“Ohmygod he sounds like _Tony!”_ Bucky sob-laughed into Steve’s left pectoral.

“Someone mentioned me?” said a good-looking dude in a red shirt with dark hair, a smartly cut goatee, and a parrot on his shoulder. And unless Johnny was seeing things, this dude had a glowing circle of blueish light under his shirt.

“Tony!” Bucky said, wiping away a tear. “Ask him something about Remy!”

Johnny frowned. “Why? Why wouldn’t you just ask _Remy_ about Remy? I’m sure he knows a helluva lot more than I do, especially since he’s in Not-Talking-To-Me Mode at the moment. Fuck if I know why though.”

Bucky was slapping Steve’s shoulder and laughing so hard he doubled over.

“Guy’s got a stick up his ass, apparently,” said Tony. “Don’t worry, it’s not just you. I think he’s pissed off at _every_ body.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” said the parrot on Tony’s shoulder in perfect British English. The parrot held out a foot towards Johnny.

“Dude!” Johnny shook the parrot’s foot. “Talking parrot!! That is so cool!”

“Yeah?” said Tony, warming to him. “Name’s Jarvis. After that guy in the powdered wig over there.”

“What’s with the wig?” Johnny wondered aloud.

“No idea!” Tony replied as though he was glad someone else finally understood. “Tony Stark, by the way.” He reached out a hand to shake.

Johnny was halfway through shaking Tony’s hand when it registered. “Wait. Tony Stark? –but you guys are looking for a guy named _Howard_ Stark.”

“Yeah,” said Tony, grimly, letting go of his hand. “He’s my dad.”

“Oh.” It still didn’t make sense.

“Famous inventor..?” Tony prompted.

Johnny shook his head slowly. Nope. Not a clue.

“Well!” Tony clapped a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “Apparently he’s very sought-after. Probably because he accidentally invented all of the world’s most deadliest weapons and sealed them into a vault. But that vault has been plundered, and all of those weapons are in our safekeeping.”

“Not.. all,” said the man in the powdered wig, his voice oddly high.

“Excuse me?” said Tony, turning to face him.

The man in the powdered wig shifted uncomfortably. “Master Stark dispersed his inventions into several different locations.”

Tony’s eyes hardened. “Several?” he repeated. “As in.. there are _more_ vaults full of deadly weapons?” He took a step towards the man in the wig. “And don’t tell me. _You_ know where they are.”

The man fussed with the ruffled cloth adorning his chest. “Well.. yes,” he admitted sheepishly.

“How many are there?” Tony asked with barely contained anger.

“Erm,” said the man in the powdered wig, “Master Stark entrusted me alone with that information. He wouldn’t want me to…”

“How many?” Tony repeated, stepping closer.

“Seven,” the man mumbled.

“You hear that?” Tony said tightly, turning to face Steve and the now-sobered Bucky. “There are _six more_ vaults full of deadly inventions.”

“You think someone else knows about them?” asked Steve, expression deadly serious.

“That would be impossible,” said the man in the powdered wig, “unless…”

Tony looked about ready to snap. “Unless they’ve spoken with my father.”

* * *

“Empty?!” Dottie asked in an eerily soft voice, head tilted to the side. “How could it be  _empty?”_

“Someone beat us here,” said Zola.

_“Really_ ,” said Dottie, with just enough glass in her voice to tip Natalia off that Dottie was not genuinely surprised by Zola’s answer. Dottie rounded on Howard, knife in hand.

Zola stood between her and Howard. “I know you are frustrated,” said Zola, voice quaking. “So am I. But if ve kill him now, ve may not be able to find his other vaults.”

Dottie flung her knife past Howard’s head. It whooshed past, end over end, and buried itself in a patch of moss on the cave wall. “Or maybe,” she said with barely contained rage, “he’s _lying_ to us.”

“He is incapable of lying under Ivchenko’s control,” Zola insisted.

“Ivchenko isn’t here right now.”

“He doesn’t need to be.” Zola flexed his pudgy little hands nervously. “His control lasts for hours, even days at a time.”

“How do we know he’s _really_ under Ivchenko’s control?”

Natalia rolled her eyes. “Because he’d be acting completely differently if he wasn’t.”

Dottie whirled to face her.

Natalia shrugged one shoulder, keeping her face neutral. “Stark was defiant. He pretended he had dementia. Under Ivchenko’s hypnosis, he’s been much more pliant and reliable. The guy faked having a bad memory. I doubt he’d be giving us the answers if the treatment wasn’t working.”

Dottie’s eerily wide eyes darted over Natalia’s face. Her lips were tight. “Fine,” she said. She crossed the room in four large strides and yanked her knife out of the cave wall. “But if the next vault is empty, Mister Stark is going to get some new tattoos. Made out of _scar tissue._ ”


	9. Chapter 9

Sitting next to Remy at dinner was bittersweet.

Johnny got to watch the way Remy held his utensils, the way his lips wrapped around a cup, or closed around a spoonful of dessert. He got to watch the way Remy’s throat moved when he swallowed.

But the whole time, Remy refused to talk to him.

Remy had cursory conversation with Logan, who mostly responded with grunts and snark, and after finishing before everyone else, Remy excused himself and left.

All Johnny wanted to do was follow him.

AnnMarie laid a gloved hand on Johnny’s arm.

He met her eyes. They were a pretty shade of green- lots of shades of green, actually. Her eyes were really cool now that he was up close to them.

“He doesn’t hate you,” she said.

“I know,” Johnny replied with a sigh. He picked at his dessert.

AnnMarie scooted closer. “He’s just bein’ dumb!” She nudged Johnny with her elbow. “He’ll come around.”

“You think?”

“I may not be an expert,” AnnMarie said, “but I know a longing glance when I see one.”

Johnny blushed and scratched the back of his neck. He hadn’t realized he was being so obvious.

AnnMarie nudged his elbow again. When he met her eyes, she was smiling. “He’ll come around,” she insisted.

Johnny smiled back at her and shoved his dessert in her direction. “Here. I can’t finish that.”

“You sure?”

Johnny’s stomach was tied in knots. He nodded.

AnnMarie tucked into his dessert, eating with gusto. A small part of him was glad that _someone_ was enjoying the food tonight. Eating had been a struggle.

She finished his dessert and caught his eye again. “Really,” she insisted. “He’ll come around.”

Johnny ducked his head. He felt very self-conscious that someone had noticed his feelings to the point of worrying about him and showing support. But at the same time, it was kind of nice, to have a friend.

* * *

Natalia stood on the empty deck. She checked once more to make absolutely sure she was alone. She lit up the signal. .- .-. . / -.-- --- ..- / - .... . .-. . ..--..

She waited.

-.-- --- ..- / .- .-. . / .-.. .- - . .-.-.- came the reply.

... --- .-. .-. -.-- --..— Natalia signaled, .... .- -.. / ... --- -- . / ..- -. .-- .- -. - . -.. / -.-. --- -- .--. .- -. -.-- .-.-.-

-.-- --- ..- / .- .-. . / .- .-.. --- -. . ..--.. flashed the distant light.

-.-- . ... .-.-.- she answered.

... - .- - ..- ... / ..- .--. -.. .- - .

Natalia answered, ..-. .. .-. ... - / ...- .- ..- .-.. - / . -- .--. - -.-- .-.-.- / .... . .- -.. . -.. / - --- / ... . -.-. --- -. -.. .-.-.-

The light across the way was dark for a moment. . -- .--. - -.-- ..--.. / .- -. -.-- / .-.. . .- -.. ... / --- -. / .-- .... --- / . -- .--. - .. . -.. / ...- .- ..- .-.. - / .---- ..--..

.. - / -- .- -.-- / .... .- ...- . / -... . . -. / -.-. .- .--. - .- .. -. / .- -- . .-. .. -.-. .- --..-- / - .... . / -- .- -. / .-- .... --- / ... ..- -. -.- / - .... . / -.- .-. .- -.- . -. .-.-.- Zola seemed convinced of it, at least. He’d claimed he’d recognized some of his crew when the Captain had attacked, before he and Ivchenko escaped with Stark. Natalia wondered what such a notoriously virtuous man could want with deadly weapons.

-.-. .- .--. - .- .. -. / .- -- . .-. .. -.-. .- ..--.. The light across the way went dark for another moment. Natalia could practically feel the man thinking. .... --- .-- / ...- . .-. -.-- / .. -. - . .-. . ... - .. -. --. .-.-.- / -.- . . .--. / -- . / .--. --- ... - . -.. .-.-.-

.-- .. .-.. .-.. / -.. --- --..-- / ... .. .-. .-.-.- Natalia replied with a smirk.

* * *

“Tell me you’re not contacting who I  _think_ you’re contacting,” growled Logan.

“You wan’ meh tu fin’ dis man or no?”

“That guy’s dirty, Swamp rat.”

“Ah don’ care. Ya asked fo’ mah help. If anyone knows who’s been in dese waters, it’s him.”

“Who?” interrupted The Prince, who was standing only a few yards away.

“None o’ your business, homme. Dis don’ concern ya.” He was annoyed that the prince seemed to fancy himself entitled to Remy’s business, just because he was his hostage.

“You sure you know what you’re getting us into, Cajun?” Logan growled.

“Don’ Ah always?”

The prince lingered for a moment, but after Remy sent him a sufficiently dark glare, the prince finally took the hint and wandered away. Remy hated that his heart seemed to tug right along with him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the prince sidle up next to the curvy brunette with prematurely whitening hair. The brunette seemed to have already succumbed to Johnny’s charms. She put an arm around his waist and said something Remy couldn’t hear. Heat crept up the back of Remy’s neck.

“If I didn’t know better,” rumbled Logan, “I’d say your thinking has been compromised.”

Remy glared at him. “Mah thinkin’ is just fahne, homme. You got a bettah idea? You’re th’ one who fetched meh. If you’re so smaht, why don’t _ya_ fin’ dis guy wit’out meh?”

Logan tsk’d. “Since when did _you_ grow a temper?”

“Ah didn’.” It was the damned prince. He made Remy’s blood boil. He squinted at a shape approaching them. It was too far away yet to make out much detail, but “-Tha’s him.” He recognized those black sails anywhere.

Logan squinted at the dirty dinghy with the black-and-silver sails. That was him, all right. “Should catch up to us by nightfall.”

“Da’s de plan.”

* * *

Dottie smacked Howard across the face. “Where’s the island!”

Doctor Ivchenko stroked his ring. “Focus, Howard. Focus…”

Howard’s gaze darted between the two of them for a moment. “If I focus, is she gonna hit me again?”

“I promise,” Doctor Ivchenko said, giving a pointed look to Dottie, “that if you focus, she will _not_ hit you again.”

Dottie balled her fists by her sides and glared sharply at Doctor Ivchenko, who stared steadily back at her.

“All right, fine. But I still don’t trust you.” Howard made himself more comfortable in his chair. “What am I focusing on? What’s the purpose of this exercise?”

“You want to fix things, don’t you?” Doctor Ivchenko said, stroking his ring. “You wanted to make the world a better place. That is all you wanted…” he continued in his soothing rhythm. “That is _still_ what you want.”

“Yeah,” said Howard, eyebrows easing.

“Good!” said Doctor Ivchenko quietly. “Then I need you to focus. Focus on the sound of my voice. I will help you to make the world a better place… To help you fix what went wrong…” He punctuated these last three words in particular.

The words had their desired effect; Howard’s eyes glazed over.

“Focus…” When Doctor Ivchenko was certain Howard had fallen under his spell, he said, “Now then. Where exactly is this vault?”

“What vault?” Howard said blankly, confused.

Natalia showed Howard the map.

“Oh,” Howard said, “ _that_ vault.” He blinked slowly several times.

_“Focus,_ ” Doctor Ivchenko urged.

“I really have no ide---oh,” Howard said. “Wait… On the southern side of the island, there’s this cove…”

“Very good,” Doctor Ivchenko interrupted. “Do not give us further instructions until I say so.”

* * *

“Crossbones,” Remy greeted.

“Gambit,” greeted the scruffy man on the dinghy. “You look like a man in search of service.”

“Ah’m searchin’ fo’ a man, homme.”

Rumlow crooked his eyebrows. “Didn’t know you swung that way. And all these years I’ve been flirting.”

“Vereh funneh.” Remy glanced over his shoulder. Logan was keeping guard. They were the only two on-deck. “Ah’m lookin’ fo’ a man called Howahd Stahk.”

“Are there any ‘r’s in that?” Rumlow teased.

“Cut de crap, homme.”

“Hey, just wanna make sure I find you the right guy.” Rumlow grinned, all teeth and salt-and-pepper beard.

Remy rolled his eyes. “Yes, dere ahre ‘r’s. ‘e’s an inventor. Las’ seen ‘im on-board—”

“The Leviathan,” Rumlow finished. At Remy’s surprised look, Rumlow shrugged casually and said, “I have my sources.”

“No word of ‘im since den?”

“Not that I’ve heard,” Rumlow said, “but I can keep my ear to the water for ya.”

“Do tha’.”

Rumlow cocked his head. “What’s in it for me?”

“Name your price.”

Rumlow grinned. “10 thousand up front.”

“Five.”

“Eight.”

“Seven.”

“Done.”

Rumlow waited. Remy said something to Logan in a low voice; Logan rolled his eyes and asked Remy one more time if he was sure he knew what he was doing, but he handed him the money.

Remy tossed the money to Rumlow, who caught it with a grin. “I expect the other thirteen when I bring you your man.”

“We’ll see abou’ tha’.”

Rumlow held up the sack of money. “Cheers.”

* * *

There were a few missteps along the way, but Howard did manage to lead them to the second vault, under the control of Doctor Ivchenko.

To Dottie’s manic delight, the second vault was untouched. “What’s the combination?!” she demanded with glee.

“65… 41… 50,” recited the dazed Howard.

Dottie turned the dial this way and that until the door to the vault door popped ajar with a quiet release of stale air. Everyone held their breath as the vault door swung open.

Inside lay a vast array of wooden crates, all labelled with numbers.

“Excellent!” Dottie grinned and began prying open the crates. “What does this one do?” She held up a metallic disc.

“Flight stabilizer,” Howard droned.

Dottie frowned. “What on Earth is it for?”

“For flying,” Howard replied, snarky even under Ivchenko’s control.

Dottie tossed the useless object aside. She held up another one. “And this?”

“Engine for a flying car. Never got around to it…”

“You mean like a carriage?” Dottie’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why would anyone want that?”

“I told you,” said Howard, starting to come out of it, “my inventions are useless. I don’t know why you’d want any of them.”

“Focus…” Doctor Ivchenko urged.

“Focus? On what, on how all of this is useless junk?”

“Howard,” Dottie warned. She shot a pointed glance at Doctor Ivchenko.

Doctor Ivchenko regained Howard’s focus. Dottie asked him the purpose of several more inventions before they got to what looked like a piece of gum, but upon chewing it, would inevitably turn the chewer into a giant blueberry.

Dottie raised her eyebrows and pocketed the gum. “That could come in handy.”

Natalia rolled her eyes. “Howard,” she tried, “is there anything dangerous in this vault?”

“Besides the gum? Yeah. There’s a soda that, if you drink it, it makes you float up to the ceiling—unless you’re outside, in which case, you’re history. That’s number 34. And there’s a flux capacitor attachment to the flying car machine, which would enable time travel, but the problem is you’d have to get the car up to 88 miles per hour, and there’s nothing that can go that fast. I tried a steam engine but it didn’t have the same effect; half the car went missing, I have nowhere when to.”

Dottie retrieved crate number 34. “Anything else?” she asked eagerly.

“Yeah. A pair of dentures that’s supposed to chew your food, but instead it chatters. But the longer you wear them, the faster they go, until they hit supersonic speed.” Howard turned to Ivchenko. “What’s the use of this anyway? What’re you gonna do, open a candy shop? That’s a target for lawsuit. Parents will get the law involved if you sell their children defective candy.”

“We’re not interested in selling this, Mister Stark,” said Dottie, collecting the last of what she found useable and dusting herself off. She cocked her head to the side. “We’re interested in _using_ them.”

* * *

“Remy?” Johnny asked softly. Johnny had taken off everything but his underpants again, and Remy had kept his back turned the whole time. Even now, Remy didn’t respond. His coat hung on the hook near the door, his pink undershirt stretched across his back; the blanket obscured his form from the waist down.

“Remy,” Johnny tried again, stepping closer. “Look, whatever I did, I’m sorry.” He felt a lump growing in his throat. He swallowed past it. “AnnMarie has been telling me about what it’s like growing up poor. And so have Steve, and Bucky… I had no idea. And I don’t know how to fix it, but I want to. Please.. Don’t keep ignoring me, Remy.”

Remy didn’t respond.

“Remy,” Johnny pleaded, tears springing to his eyes. He hated crying.

“Go tu sleep, homme.”

Johnny’s lip wobbled. The tears came pouring down. He reached out one hand and pressed his palm against the wood holding up Remy’s bunk.

* * *

Remy heard silence for a long moment. Then, the now-familiar sound of Johnny climbing into his lower bunk.

And then… Johnny sniffling into his pillow.

Remy’s own vision went blurry. He cursed himself. He should never have tried kidnapping the prince. All he’d wanted was the money. He’d never asked for any of this.

Johnny cried quietly below him, and every sharp intake of breath, every sniffle, was like another rock sitting on Remy’s chest. Tears rolled down the side of his face and gathered on the pillow.

He listened to Johnny cry himself to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

“Well that’s not good,” grunted Logan, noting the red sky that morning.

“No,” Steve agreed grimly, “it’s not.”

“How far are we from shore?” asked Bucky.

“At least two days,” answered Pepper.

“Should I take the helm?” asked Thor.

“Yes,” answered Pepper. “Hawkeye!”

Hawkeye poked his head out the bottom of the crow’s nest—or Hawk’s Nest, as he liked to call it. “Yeah?”

“Watch for storm clouds.”

“Aye, cap’n.” Hawkeye saluted upside-down, disappeared for a moment, and then his head and torso re-appeared rightside-up. He squinted dramatically into the distance, shielding his eyes from the still-rising sun.

“Shall I give the order to batten down the hatches?”

“Yes, Steve,” Pepper answered, hurriedly pacing towards Tony.

Steve headed off to give the crew their orders.

“What’s all the commotion?” asked AnnMarie, wiping her sleepy eyes. Her hair was adorably sleep-tossed.

“Storm’s a-brewin’,” answered Logan.

“Mmm, tell me about it!” AnnMarie answered with a yawn. “If those boys don’t git their shit together soon, I swear--!”

Logan smirked. “No, I mean a _real_ storm.” He pointed at the sky. “You know what that color means, at this time of day?”

AnnMarie shook her head, blinking away sleep and rubbing her eyes again.

“It means,” said Tony, rushing past, “We’re in for a rough ride. Get moving!”

The crew filtered out onto the deck, one or two at a time. Everyone was given orders and started tying things down.

“Northeast!” Hawkeye pointed. There was a brief flash of light in the northeast, followed by a very quiet rumble, like a cat purring in the distance.

The air around them had gone dead still.

“Dis wha’ we get fo’ bringin’ a guy named Storm on-board,” Gambit mumbled as he rolled a barrel along the deck.

“That’s all on you, Cajun,” Logan returned. Gambit flipped him off and kept rolling the barrel, back turned.

Across the way, Sousa and Carter were having an uneasy conversation as they tied down a stack of crates together. It got so tense, Angie said something along the lines of “I’m gonna go do this now,” pointing with her thumb, and walked over towards AnnMarie. “You look like you need help,” she said.

“I don’t…” AnnMarie started, but picked up on Angie’s discomfort. “-really know what I’m doing, to be honest.”

Angie brightened up and pitched in.

Logan finished securing his own rope and moved on to the next one.

The wind started picking up.

“Take down the sails!” Pepper ordered.

Hawkeye and Bruce set about collapsing the mainsail.

All around them, the water shifted from placid rolling to sharp crests and dips. The wind gradually increased. Thunder followed lightning more closely each time; there was a boom so loud it cut off an order Pepper was giving. She revised her statement and shouted, “Everyone but Thor, Steve, Logan, and Dugan get off-deck!” Thunder boomed again. The ship tossed on a large wave, rolling to one side, and then to the other. “NOW!”

“Later, toots,” Logan said, unheard, to AnnMarie as she and Angie rushed away arm-in-arm.

* * *

Johnny hurriedly finished securing his crate and rushed to his bedroom, unsure where else to go. He slammed the door behind him, more to get out of the way of the man behind him than anything else. He heard footsteps pounding down the hallway, past his door.

The floor pitched to the side; Johnny clutched the wall to keep his balance. “Remy?” There was no response, but then, there usually wasn’t. He searched the room. His heart was pounding.

Remy wasn’t there.

Johnny wondered for a panicked second if he ought to go back out there. He— he could be hurt, or--!

The door opened and Remy stumbled in, bolting the door shut behind him. “Johnny,” he observed over his shoulder.

“Remy,” Johnny repeated, relieved.

“It’s bad ou’ there, homme.” The floor pitched and rolled underfoot. Lightning flashed outside, briefly illuminating the porthole.

“Yeah. I noticed.”

The floor pitched again. Johnny had subconsciously eased his grip on the wall when he saw Remy; the tilt of the floor sent him stumbling straight into Remy’s chest. They both froze for a moment. Johnny turned red. “I—I’m sorry,” Johnny stuttered, regaining his footing. He was at eye-level with Remy’s mouth. His eyes slowly tracked up to meet Remy’s.

“We shoul’ prob’ly hang ontu somethin’,” Remy suggested, voice low.

“Yeah,” Johnny breathed. Tearing himself away from Remy felt like ripping off a bandage. He made it halfway across the room before the floor pitched again, sending Johnny stumbling to the floor.

Remy landed roughly a couple feet away from him. “You all righ’, homme?” Remy grunted, rubbing his shoulder.

“I’m oka—” The floor pitched again, sending Remy tumbling to a halt chest-to-chest with Johnny. They stared at each other for a moment, startled. The next roll of the floor brought Remy’s head tipping forward until their lips were touching. Johnny’s heart was about ready to pound out of his chest, but the thing was, he could feel Remy’s heartbeat too. _Remy’s heart was beating just as wildly_. Johnny whimpered high in his throat.

The floor continued to pitch and roll under them, but for the moment, they were secure. Remy backed away just the tiniest bit. “Ah’m sorry, homme— Ah didn’ mean..!”

Johnny parted his lips and grabbed Remy’s face with both hands. He brought those beautiful cheekbones closer until their lips were pressed together once more. Remy’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t back away. His lips softened the slightest bit. Johnny’s eyes rolled shut. Remy’s lips felt just as perfect against his as he knew they would.

Remy moaned low in his throat and kissed back.

Johnny grappled at Remy’s back, Remy’s hair, running his hands over everything he’d been so desperate to touch since he first laid eyes on him. He didn’t care anymore how much emotion Remy could taste in his kiss, he needed to let it out. He’d never been kissed like this before, never wanted to kiss someone so badly before. The way his lower lip fit into that crook between Remy’s lower lip and his gorgeous chin—it was just as perfect as Johnny had imagined it would be.

Thunder boomed and rumbled loudly, and the storm tossed them, rolling across the room, until Johnny was on top of Remy, but they never stopped kissing. Their hands never stopped wandering. Their breathing grew heavier, their hearts pounded together. Johnny pulled Remy’s lower lip between his own and sucked on it, caressed the edge with his tongue. Remy moaned and arched against him.

The storm tossed them back across the room so Remy was on top again. Remy’s tongue delved into Johnny’s mouth. He mapped out every bit of space he could reach. Johnny met Remy’s tongue stroke for stroke, beyond thrilled when Remy pushed his pelvis against Johnny’s, just as hard, just as needy, and they rocked their hips together to the wild rhythm of the storm.

Even when their breathing grew too harsh and labored to kiss properly anymore, they still couldn’t quite bear to stop. They nipped at each other’s chins, mouthed each other’s jaws, went in for kiss, after kiss, after kiss. They panted against each other’s jaws, breaths hot, hips rolling. The storm rolled them across the floor over and over, but they were so wrapped up in each other, they didn’t care.

“Remy,” Johnny pleaded just below Remy’s ear, breath hitching.

“Johnny,” Remy breathed shakily into Johnny’s ear.

And that’s all it took. Johnny’s arms clutched tighter at Remy’s shoulders. They ground hard against each other jerkily, breaths hitching. Johnny came so hard he felt like he was on another plane of existence. He saw fireworks dancing behind his eyes. He felt weightless, as though the floor had disappeared from beneath him and he was floating above it in Remy’s arms. Remy panted harshly against Johnny’s neck and followed suit, holding him tightly. Johnny held him through it, catching his breath. For a moment, everything was perfect.

Somehow, in the midst of it all, the storm had calmed. The floor still pitched and rolled underfoot, but the thunder rumbled more distantly now, and the shifting angle of the floor was no longer quite so sudden or harsh.

Johnny’s grip eased on Remy’s shoulders. He was so happy. Finally, _finally_ , he’d been able to kiss those beautiful lips! He’d never thought holding another man could feel so natural, but he never wanted to let go.

Abruptly, Remy stood, brows drawn together. “Ah shouldn’ ‘ave done tha’.” He took a step backwards.

Johnny frowned, at a loss. “What? Why?”

Remy shook his head. “Ah knew ya wanted tu. Ah shouldn’ ‘ave let ya.”

Johnny sat up, frown deepening. “Remy, why?” The world was hazy and weightless, his bones malleable and relaxed.

Remy reached for the door handle. He shook his head, turned around, and tried to open the door, forgetting he’d bolted it shut.

That floaty feeling disappeared. Johnny stood and crossed the room. “Remy!”

Remy turned away from him, hand still on the handle. “Don’ touch me!”

Frustration built an angry nest behind Johnny’s forehead. “That’s not what you were saying two minutes ago!”

Remy glared at him. “Tha’s all ya wan’ed isn’ it? Ya jus’ wan’ed tu sleep with me, an’ now it’s ovah.”

“What?! Remy, what made you think that!?”

“Maybeh because tha’s wha’ ya do wit’ _everyone ya evah sleep wit’?”_

Johnny couldn’t believe he was hearing this. “Oh, like you’re so different!”

“Ah _am_ diff’rent! Ah can’ affohd tu be attached tu anyone, ‘cause bein’ attached puts them in dangah! Ah’m a _t’ief_ , Johnny. An’ now Ah’m wan’ed fo’ treason, thanks tu kidnappin’ de crown prince. Livin’ a life like mahn— ya can’t affohd tu fall in love!”

“Well that sucks,” Johnny said, voice odd, “’cause I’m in love with you.”

“You,” Remy started angrily, but cut himself off, surprised. “Wha’?”

“I’ve been in love with you this whole time!” Johnny confessed vehemently. Quieter, searching Remy’s super-gorgeous red eyes, he asked, “How could one night with you ever be enough?”

“Ya jus’ sayin’ tha’,” Remy said uncertainly.

“No, I’m not,” Johnny insisted, bringing Remy in for a heartfelt kiss. Remy resisted at first, but the more Johnny’s form melted against Remy’s, like he was born to fit there, the more Remy’s muscles eased, until he was cradling the back of Johnny’s head and kissing him back. They kissed until they heard someone knock on their door and say it was safe, and Johnny started to pull back, but Remy chased after his mouth and kissed him insistently, mouth pleading.

Johnny couldn’t say no to that.

At first the kiss was emotional, an exchange of pent-up feelings and promises and confessions. And then Remy licked Johnny’s bottom lip, and then their hearts were pounding, and the room was too hot, and Johnny couldn’t get close enough.

“Ah shouldn’ ‘ave let ya do tha’,” Remy muttered, kissing down Johnny’s neck.

“Why not?” Johnny whispered, worried that Remy was still going to argue.

“Because now Ah don’ wanna give ya back,” Remy confessed quietly into the crook of Johnny’s neck before sucking a mark there.

Johnny clutched Remy’s shoulders. “Maybe I don’t wanna _go_ back.”

Remy shook his head, nuzzling the spot he’d just kissed. “Ya gotta go back. You’re de heir tu th’ throne.”

“My sister can do it,” Johnny insisted. “Please… Don’t let me go.”

“Ah don’ think Ah can.” Remy lowered Johnny onto the lower bunk, positioned himself on top of him, and settled in for another heated kiss.

* * *

“Has anyone seen Remy and Johnny?” Pepper fretted, doing a headcount.

“I saw Johnny go into his room,” volunteered Bucky.

“I saw Remy,” volunteered Daniel. “He went in there too.”

“And no one’s seen them since?!” Pepper frowned at them, wide-eyed.

Bucky’s mouth rolled around as he tried, and failed, to suppress a smirk. “I think they’re still in there.”

“Why? Are they okay? Did one of them get knocked unconscious? Do they need a doctor?!” Pepper fretted.

“The only thing they need,” answered Bucky, deeply amused, “is more soundproof walls.”

Steve met Bucky’s eyes. He’s gone slightly pale. “Wait—you could _hear_ them?”

“Yup.”

Steve’s cheeks went all blotchy.

Bucky snickered, then burst out laughing.

“What?” Pepper frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“As the guy who sleeps in the room next to Peggy and Angie,” Tony said, “I’d say, what’s funny is that the walls are just thin enough to hear the couple next-door having sex. –Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

Peggy turned scarlet.

Angie raised her eyebrows at Tony.

Bucky laughed harder.

Pepper blushed. “Um. Well. That’s, uh—okay, that’s on the list. Thicker walls. Or, soundproofing, of some sort. Got it. –Is everyone else okay?”

“I’m okay,” volunteered Clint, “except that I never wanted to know any of that.”

“Me neither,” said Bruce.

Bucky guffawed into Steve’s shoulder as Steve gradually blushed a brighter shade of pink.

“Okay great,” said a very flustered Pepper. “I’m glad no one got hurt.”

* * *

Bucky couldn’t stop snickering when Johnny and Remy joined the rest of the crew for dinner, late, wearing different pants. Johnny had several very obvious red marks on his neck and Remy’s hair was mussed.

Steve sent a questioning glance his way.

“Nice pants,” Bucky said after Johnny sat down.

Johnny turned bright red.

“Dey got wet in de storm,” Remy explained, pulling Johnny closer with an arm around his shoulders.

“Yeah?” said Bucky, beyond amused. “And your shirts didn’t?”

Johnny sunk down a little in his chair.

“Bucky,” Pepper warned.

Bucky glanced at them again and burst into a fresh fit of snickers.

Remy pulled Johnny closer against his side and murmured something comforting into his hair.

“Mine did,” volunteered Steve, who had, in fact changed his shirt.

“I know,” said Bucky in a low, seductive voice, eyeing Steve’s torso, which only moments ago, he’d seen in all its naked glory. _And how glorious it was._

“Leave them alone,” said Peggy, rolling her eyes.

“Yes, _ma’am,_ ” Bucky replied, eyes dancing between Peggy and Angie.

Angie gave him a look.

Bucky cracked up and looked elsewhere. Pepper was glaring at him.

“What!”

Pepper made a Disapproving face.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Hey, whatever. Good for them, we’ve got another happy couple.”

No one commented on this, but then, no one denied it either.

* * *

A-r-e/y-o-u/t-h-e-r-e? signaled a light far off in the distance.

Y-e-s. a second light responded.

S-e-c-o-n-d/v-a-u-l-t/a/s-u-c-c-e-s-s./H-e-a-d-i-n-g/t-o/t-h-i-r-d.

“Well isn’t that interesting,” Crossbones observed.

L-o-c-a-t-i-o-n?

T-h-i-r-d/v-a-u-l-t/i-s/i-n/i-s-l-a-n-d/o-f-f/c-o-a-s-t/o-f/F-l-o-r-i-d-a/K-e-y-s, signaled one light.

Crossbones smirked. “Careless,” he said.

W-h-i-c-h/i-s-l-a-n-d-? signaled the other light.

The first light signaled coordinates. Crossbones jotted them down. “Thanks for the coordinates.” He saluted the distant ships and altered his course.

* * *

Natalia crept back to bed, padding silently down the dark hallway. She wondered what was in the third vault. The second vault had not lived up to their expectations, nor their fears. It was full of trinkets and child’s toys, in Natasha’s opinion. The stuff of pranks, not the stuff of soldiers.

Natalia boosted herself into her bed. Halfway up, a cold hand reached out and snatched her ankle.

Natalia froze.

“What are you doing?” said Dottie in her weirdly fake-innocent voice.

“I was out for a midnight stroll,” Natalia replied coolly, heart pounding.

“Why?” Dottie blinked her eerie doll-like eyes up at Natalia.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Too many lights?” Dottie asked with her head cocked.

Natalia’s heart caught in her throat. She kept her expression neutral. “What lights?”

“The ones that blink every night,” Dottie said with as much fake-innocence as she could muster. “Natalia… who are you talking to?”

“No one.” Natalia’s hands broke out in a cold sweat.

“You’re not… _disloyal_ are you?”

“Never,” Natalia vowed, saluting. “Heil Hydra!”

Dottie released Natalia’s ankle and stood nose-to-nose with her. “Are you _sure?”_

“Affirmative.”

“Then who are you talking to?” Dottie asked, voice dangerously soft.

“Headquarters,” Natalia lied. “They wanted an update on our mission.”

“Did they?” Dottie said in a brittle voice laced with disbelief. She pressed the tip of her nose against Natalia’s. “And who is the current head of Hydra?”

“Alexander Pierce.”

Dottie slapped Natalia across the face. Natalia fell to the floor, breathing hard. Dottie stood over her. “Alexander Pierce is _dead._ He was the captain of the Kraken, the ship which Captain Rogers sank. Try again. _Who is the current head of Hydra?”_

“Янезнаю.”

_“Then who have you been communicating with?!”_

Natalia remained silent, eyes wide, chest heaving, clutching the side of her face.

“Traitor,” Dottie said, relishing the word. She hoisted Natalia up by the neck. “Natalia isn’t even your real name, is it?” she hissed into Natalia’s face.

Natalia couldn’t answer; her throat was being crushed.

Dottie dragged Natalia out of the room, down the hall, and outside. “You can tell your little friend it’s over,” Dottie said, “before I throw you overboard.” Dottie threw Natalia against the deck and turned on the signal. “Come on,” she taunted. “Say goodbye.”

Natalia pushed herself up with a groan. She hobbled over to the signal, rubbing the bruise on her neck. - .... .. ... / .. ... / .- --. . -. - / .-. --- -- .- -. --- ...- .-.-.- / .. .----. ...- . / -... . . -. / -.-. --- -- .--. .-. --- -- .. ... . -.. .-.-.- / .-. . .--. . .- - --..-- / .- --. . -. - / .-. --- -- .- -. --- ...- / .... .- ... / -... . . -. / -.-. --- -- .--. .-. --- -- .. ... . -.. .-.-.-

“That was an awfully long goodbye,” Dottie said, tearing Natalia away from the signal by her neck. “My turn.” .... -.-- -.. .-. .- / .. ... / -.-. --- -- .. -. --. / ..-. --- .-. / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.- She switched the signal off. “I hope your little friends are close,” she said, “because otherwise, you’re going to drown.”

She hit Natalia over the head.

Stars danced before Natalia’s eyes; she pretended to black out. Dottie bound Natalia’s wrists with quick, brutal tugs, then did the same to her legs. “Bye, Natalia,” she sing-songed as she threw Natalia overboard.


	11. Chapter 11

“What was that?” barked Nick Fury.

“Agent Romanov has been compromised,” Maria Hill answered breathlessly.

“Well let’s get her _un_ compromised.”

“With all due respect, sir,” objected Phil Coulson, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Hydra is onto us.”

“She’s one of our best agents!” Hill exclaimed. “We’re not just gonna leave her there!”

“He’s right,” said Melinda May. She had been rescued from a similar situation.

Hill clenched her jaw, pale.

“Look,” said Fury, “We don’t have to go out with all our guns blazing. But we’re not just gonna leave her there.”

“You want me to bring the boat around?” said Tripp.

“Yeah,” said Fury. “I want you to bring the boat around, and head _that way._ ”

Tripp steered the boat in the direction indicated by Fury’s finger.

“Wilson!” Fury barked.

Sam startled in the crow’s nest. “Yessir!” He stood up and saluted.

“Scout ahead.”

Sam faltered, surprised. “You mean you want me to..?”

“Scout. Ahead.” Fury gave him a meaningful look with his one eye.

Gleefully, Sam strapped on his backpack and goggles. He pulled the lever, activating his brass-and-bronze wings. Sam climbed up on the edge of the crow’s nest, started the steam engine that powered his wings, and leapt off the edge of the nest with a loud whoop. He zoomed over the water, far ahead of the ship.

Minutes later, he spotted her.

* * *

Natalia hit the cold water with a splash. It didn’t take her long to free herself of the ropes; she still had air in her lungs to spare when she surfaced. The Leviathan sailed silently away in the dim moonlight. Natalia oriented herself toward where she’d last seen the flickering light and swam in that direction.

She didn’t know for sure whether she’d make it there before her arms gave out; she’d never had to swim for such a vast distance. But giving up was not an option.

Natalia kicked and stroked until all her muscles burned, her lungs burned, and giving up started to look friendly.

Then suddenly she saw a large figure zooming toward her over the water, and next thing she knew, she was being scooped up by a pair of strong arms, and a smooth, smiling voice was saying “I’ve got you.”

Natalia repositioned herself so her arms were around his neck.

“Hang on,” he said, flipping over onto his back. He had a handsome face, warm brown eyes, and a reassuring smile. “There! That’s better.” Natalia was facing him, more-or-less cradled by his body as he flew them backwards, a few feet over the water. He held her securely in place.

“What’s your name, soldier?” she asked out of habit.

“Sam Wilson.” His smile brightened. “You must be Natasha.”

“That’s my name,” she mumbled. This man must be from the ship she’d been signaling. She didn’t know everyone onboard, only Fury. She’d been working undercover for Fury for years.

“You’re very pretty,” Sam said, as though he was slightly surprised.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she returned with a little smirk. “Nice wings.”

Sam grinned. “It’s a pity you’re so tired. I’ll have to show you what these can do sometime.”

Natasha’s smirk grew.

“Are your eyes green or blue?”

“Usually,” Natasha answered.

Sam grinned. “What about your hair? Is that your natural color?”

“Only one way to find out,” she murmured.

“Right,” said Sam, “We’ll have to wait a few weeks and see if the color starts to run out. I see how it is.”

Natasha favored him with a genuine smile, rested her head on his shoulder, and let herself relax.

* * *

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Sam said again as Natasha drifted off to sleep. His muscles were getting stiff, too, but she needed rest more than he did. He righted himself and landed on the deck of the Brynhildr.

Maria Hill helped steady Natasha as Sam collapsed his wings. Natasha frowned and opened her eyes, groggy.

“Agent Romanoff,” greeted Fury.

“Commander Fury,” Natasha slurred.

“We’re going to give you sleeping quarters. But first, I would very much like to know _what went wrong._ ”

Natasha rubbed her eyes. “Dottie Underwood. I don’t know her real name. But she doesn’t know mine.” Natasha straightened and pinned Fury with a level look, as though she hadn’t been groggy two seconds ago. “She caught me signaling you. I was sure she was asleep; should’ve known not to trust her. I had a funny feeling about her. Shouldn’t have ignored it.”

“How much does she know?”

“Don’t know.” Natasha’s face went stony. “She said she’s seen me signaling you for a few nights.”

Fury’s lips thinned into a line. “That’s not good.” It was just as much an accusation as a statement.

“I’m sorry.” Natasha ducked her head, hair fanning in her face.

“Hey,” said Sam, reaching for her shoulder, “It’s not your fault. You did your best.”

Natasha glared at him. “I got careless. I’ve endangered this entire operation. This is my fault.” She stated these things as though they were fact.

“Anybody coulda messed up,” said Sam.

“Sam?” said Coulson. “A word?”

Sam wanted to defend Natasha, who had obviously worked her butt off and was obviously kicking herself, but he knew better than to ignore an order from a senior officer. “Yes sir.” He followed Coulson away from Fury and Natasha.

* * *

Remy woke up tangled up in Johnny, limbs intertwined, bodies pressed as close as they could go. Ever since Johnny had confessed his feelings, Remy had been at war with himself. On the one hand, he’d never felt so light. Everything seemed brighter and more vibrant. He was laughing more, smiling more; he felt that fluttery feeling in his stomach every time Johnny smiled at him. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself, and neither could Johnny. According to Logan, they’d become just as attached as Steve and Bucky. And given Steve and Bucky had known each other their entire lives, that was saying something. Remy had only known Johnny a matter of days, and yet… And yet…

Remy gently caressed the side of Johnny’s face, warm and glowing in the morning sunlight. The thought that he wouldn’t wake up to this sight every day for the rest of his life was heartbreaking. He hated thinking about it. But Johnny was a prince. There was probably a massive manhunt in Louisiana right now, signs posted everywhere. His parents must be worried sick.

Remy kissed his forehead. Johnny smiled sleepily and snuggled closer.

Remy held him. “Ah love ya, mon amour,” he said, barely audible. _But we cannot stay together._

“I love you too,” Johnny whispered. Remy held him tighter. He could feel Johnny smiling against his shoulder.

“Le’s get breakfast, mon amour.” Remy kissed Johnny’s cheek and peeled himself away; their skin seemed insistent on sticking together.

Oblivious to Remy’s inner struggle, Johnny yawned and stretched. “Sounds great!”

* * *

All day, Remy couldn’t help drawing Johnny close and holding him there. Johnny was more than happy to reciprocate.

After dinner, though, Remy spotted those familiar black sails and had to tell Johnny to go to his room. “Mah contact is back,” he explained. “’e doesn’ like an audience.”

“Okay,” Johnny said, looking at him with those big blue eyes, and Remy couldn’t help it. He had to kiss him again. Their arms secured each other close; their bodies surged together. The trouble with kissing Johnny was once he started, he never wanted to stop.

But he had to. “-Ah’m sorry, mon amour. Ah’ll be back,” he promised.

“Okay.”

They didn’t let go. Johnny was staring at Remy’s mouth. Remy pulled him in for one more kiss.

“It’s only for five minutes,” grunted Logan in the hallway.

Remy broke away, kissed Johnny’s forehead, and promised once more he’d be back soon. Johnny said “Okay” again, eyes all big and beautiful and trusting. Remy wanted to stare into them forever.

“Come on,” Logan grunted. He led Remy down the hallway and back on-deck. Logan hung back by the doorway, guarding it.

Remy leaned against the rail and waited until Crossbones was close enough to talk to.

“Gambit,” Crossbones greeted, “I’ve got information. You got money?”

Remy dangled a bag from his fingers. “Depen’s on de quality of de infohmation.”

“Three thousand.”

“Two.”

Crossbones made a face. “I’ve come all this way for _that?”_

“Spill, homme.”

Crossbones rolled his eyes. “Cheapskate. –I have a location on the Leviathan.”

“Not what I asked for, homme.” Remy snatched the bag into his fist.

“Howard Stark is onboard.”

Remy raised an eyebrow. “Keep talkin’..”

“That’s all I know. They have a man named Howard Stark, and they were last seen heading towards a vault in the Florida Keys.” He gave the coordinates. “–Oh. And someone named Romanov has been compromised.” He grinned, tossing a knife and catching it. “Someone must’ve seen her little light show.”

“Dat name means nothin’ tu meh.” Remy tossed him the bag.

Crossbones caught the bag and shrugged. “Ya win some, ya lose some.”

“T’anks fo’ de help.”

Crossbones held the bag up to his forehead in a mock salute. “Any time.”

“You heard dose coordinates?” Remy said to Logan, strolling across the deck.

“Yep.” Logan took a drag on his cigarette.

“Good. Let de captain know.”

“Don’t get ‘im pregnant,” Logan joked as Remy walked past.

Remy rolled his eyes. “Ah’ll try not tu.” He heard Logan chuckling to himself, but he didn’t care. His footfalls picked up faster and faster as he approached the door to his room. Johnny opened it and pulled him in by the collar, meeting his lips with a searing kiss.

* * *

“Fall back,” Fury ordered. They were following the Leviathan too closely. He didn’t want them to become suspicious.

The Brynhildr slowed. 

They continued on at an easy pace, drifting languidly through the water as the sun rose high in the sky. The island came into sight. Sam announced when and where the Leviathan weighed anchor.

“They landed on the south side of the island,” Fury said to Tripp, their navigator. “So we are going to land on the north side, and give them a little surprise.”

Natasha’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly; she was tense. “That surprise wouldn’t be me, would it?”

“That surprise,” said Fury, toting a large gun, “is this.”

* * *

They weighed anchor late in the afternoon. Fury gave everyone their orders and positions, and they waited.

To their back was the Leviathan, seemingly abandoned, several yards from shore.

They hid behind trees and rocks, waiting for the signal.

Something rustled in the grass. Figuring it was a footstep, Sam jumped into action and shot—a bird. Rookie mistake.

Something bigger shifted in the trees.

Fury was glaring at him from behind a rock, sweat beading his brow. “You idiot!” he hissed. “You just gave away our position!”

Something fist-sized rolled towards them and came to a stop.

“Grenade!” Hill shouted. They all scattered and shielded themselves with whatever they could find.

Several more grenades rolled their way. It was all they could do to dodge from tree to rock, rock to tree, shielding themselves from every explosion, and with it, the cutting blast of sand that followed.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” said a blond woman with piercing pale blue eyes, a fake-innocent smile plastered across her otherwise pretty face as she stepped into the clearing, sword raised.

“Surprise, motherfucker.” Fury activated his gun, which shot a giant plume of flame at the tree next to the scary woman.

She stepped forward as though it didn’t intimidate her. Several figures fanned out behind her. “What are you gonna do?” she said, “burn down the whole island?”

Guns clicked. Everyone on both sides took aim.

“Give us the inventions and no one gets hurt,” Fury ordered, aiming his flamethrower straight at the woman’s chest.

“Hmmm,” she hummed, “I’m afraid we’re not gonna do that.” Suddenly she was flying through the air. Fury ducked her legs; one of them caught him around the throat. Sam was worried enough that he was about to go help when someone shot the tip of his shoulder.

“Hey!” Sam complained.

Shots were fired. Weapons detonated. Things exploded left and right. Fire licked at nearby grass and trees. Sam didn’t have time to dedicate time to watching what else was going on, because he was too busy fighting a very acrobatic woman with knives between her knuckles. “Sorry about this,” he apologized as he brought a weapon to her chest and shot a jolt of electricity straight to her heart. The woman fell, limp, to the sand.

Something large exploded nearby. Sam ducked behind a rock and was immediately attacked by a wiry man with glasses. They grappled on the ground, rolling in the sand. The wiry guy tried to shove something sharp into Sam’s neck.

Natasha caught him in the crossfire and barreled sideways into the wiry man, firing two pistols as she went. She landed on top of the guy and shot him through the forehead. “You’re welcome,” she said before rolling to her feet and shooting elsewhere.

Sam didn’t have time to say “Thank you.”

He did, however, see a small chubby man with a monocle fleeing the scene with a short old man and a tall older man. “Hey!” he said, trying to get someone’s attention, but then he was shot through the arm and he had to leap back into the fray.

Which was hard to do, considering his arm hurt like a sonofabitch and he was bleeding. But he did manage to incapacitate one more dude before he collapsed to his knees, stripped off a piece of fabric from the bottom of his shirt, and bound his arm.

The fight was winding down around him. He was almost afraid to look.

Tripp was down.

So were most of the Other Guys. He was happy he recognized most of the faces that were still kicking ass, standing over bodies, or coming up from crouches behind rocks.

“Is everyone okay?” Nick Fury called after the last Other Guy had been dispatched.

Everyone looked around and checked amongst themselves to make sure they were, in fact, okay.

“Good,” he said.

“We didn’t get them all though,” Sam pointed out.

“No we didn’t,” Natasha agreed, wiping blood off her mouth. “I saw three of them running through the woods.”

“They don’t have anywhere to run,” Fury stated. “I suggest we make sure we’re all medically sound before we—”

“Nick Fury?” called out a new voice.

Everyone turned. The man who had spoken was tall, blond, and dressed in red, white, and blue. “Well,” Fury said. “If it isn’t Captain America.”


	12. Chapter 12

Steve couldn’t believe it. The man he’d been hunting down—! The ship they’d been after—! It couldn’t be. “I thought you retired!”

“I did!” Fury called. “Didn’t last long.”

Steve was still reeling. How could this be? “Where’s Howard?”

“If you mean Howard Stark,” Fury answered, “We’d like to know the same thing. Our best guess is he’s somewhere on this island.”

Steve noticed for the first time that Fury was limping. A cursory glance around the ground provided evidence that they’d just stumbled on the aftermath of a rough battle. Steve had closed the gap between the two groups. He had to squint in the bright sunlight, reflecting off the white sand. “You don’t have him?” Relief crept into his bones.

“We do not,” Fury stated. “But I heard _you_ were in possession of some of Mister Stark’s inventions. Which would explain the sudden muscle mass.” He eyed Steve.

Steve jutted his chin up. “It was for a good cause.”

“Looks like it worked wonders,” Fury said. “Just imagine what could happen if that fell into the wrong hands.”

Steve clenched his fists.

Fury eyed him for another long moment. “Where are Mister Stark’s inventions?”

“On-board my ship. Some of them,” Steve remedied. “The rest are--”

“-in vaults,” Fury finished. “I know.” He drew himself up, wrists clasped behind his back. “I’m going to need those inventions.”

Steve glanced at the group of people which had gathered behind Fury. Most of them were glaring at him with some level of wariness. “How do I know I can trust you?”

Fury’s mouth shifted. “You don’t.”

Steve’s expression hardened. Fury was right, if those weapons fell into the wrong hands… He’d never known Fury that well, all he knew was that he was a man who held many secrets. And he still wasn’t entirely sure Fury wasn’t the one holding Stark captive.

“Sir,” said a bald man with earnest gray eyes, “If I may.” He stepped next to Fury and smiled mildly at Steve. “I’m Phil Coulson, his second-in-command. This is for a good cause. We just want to keep the world safe.”

“So do I,” agreed Steve.

“Glad to hear it.” Coulson’s smile brightened. He touched Steve’s bicep. “I’ve heard good things about you, Cap. Believe me when I say, giving us those inventions is doing the right thing.”

Steve exchanged a glance with Pepper.

Pepper’s eyebrows were drawn, but Coulson seemed to have put her at ease. She nodded.

* * *

Crossbones lingered near shore. He loaded the last crate into his dinghy when a voice called out to him. “Please,” the German accent said, “Take us on board.”

“And why would I want to do that?” Crossbones leaned against a stack of crates, arms crossed.

“Ve vill make it worth your while.” The short man’s monocle glinted in the sunlight. Half of his face was covered with metal. Where his other eye would be, glowed an orange oval.

“What’re you gonna offer me? Cybernetics?”

“If zat is what you want,” granted the short, pudgy man.

“Please,” said the taller man who was _not_ bound and gagged, “We ask for your cooperation.”

Crossbones glanced from one, to the other, to the guy in the middle who _was_ bound and gagged. “Too hot,” he said, backing away to wind up the chain on his anchor. “I don’t touch such wanted goods.”

“Zen why are you taking Mister Stark’s  inventions?”

Crossbones paused. “Is _that_ what these are.”

“Please, sir.” The pudgy man shoved the bound and gagged man forward. “Ve haf ze man who knows how to use zem.”

Crossbones examined the trio with renewed interest. “So if I wanna sell these,” he said, “what does that mean?”

“It means you are wasting an opportunity,” said the short pudgy man.

“An opportunity to do _what_ , exactly?”

The pudgy man smiled. His monocle glinted. “To rule ze world.”

“Not interested.” Crossbones cranked his anchor farther up.

“Please,” said the taller man, looking anxiously over his shoulder, “What is it you want then? Money?”

“Yup.”

“Zat,” said the short, pudgy man, “ve have.”

“Yeah?” Crossbones crossed his arms. “How much?”

“All ze money you could ever dream.”

Crossbones raised an eyebrow. “I dream big.”

“I do not wish to alarm you,” said the taller man who was _not_ bound and gagged, “but we are being chased. If you do not welcome us aboard soon, not only will we be caught, but you as well. And all of the inventions which you have stolen, will be stolen back.”

Crossbones’ mouth narrowed into a grim line. He glanced behind them, but didn’t see anyone following. “…All right, get in. But make it quick.”

* * *

They spent the better part of the afternoon handing off the crates of inventions to Fury and his crew. Their ships sat side-by-side in the harbor. “Perhaps we’ll see each other again sometime,” Coulson said to Steve with a warm smile.

“Maybe,” Steve agreed with an equally warm smile.

“But, erm,” said Edwin Jarvis, worrying his gloves, “You _will_ give us word if you find Master Stark?”

“Of course.” Coulson nodded. “Our scouting team is the best. If they can’t find him, then the bad news is he’s no longer on this island. The good news is, we’ll find him soon.”

As if on cue, Melinda May emerged from the woods, flanked by four other agents. She met Coulson’s eyes and shook her head.

“We’ll find him soon,” Coulson reiterated.

“Please, sir,” Edwin Jarvis said, “If it’s all the same.. Master Stark means the world to me. I would like to come with you.”

Coulson shared a glance with Steve, then Fury. He rolled his shoulders. “I don’t see why not.”

“Oh, _thank_ you, sir!” Edwin Jarvis clasped Coulson’s hands warmly between his own. He left to retrieve his belongings.

“Wha’, so we come all dis way fo’ nothing?”

“Not _nothing!”_ Johnny objected. He gave Remy a meaningful look. Remy returned it with a sad one. “What?” Johnny said. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Remy silently watched the doorway for Edwin Jarvis, facing away from Johnny. The perpetually fretful man emerged, wig askew, carrying the suitcase. “As promised,” Edwin Jarvis said. He handed the suitcase to Logan. “Please.. Disperse that amongst yourselves. It’s been a pleasure,” he added before disboarding.

Logan opened up the suitcase and started counting out money. Remy eyed the money broodingly.

“It’s already pretty late,” Tony said to Pepper. “What say you we just stay here for the night?”

Pepper glanced at the sky, gauging the time of day. The sky was full of beautiful red and blue hues, brightened by orange-and-pink clouds. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. “I don’t see why not.”

“There’s your portion, Cajun.” Logan handed Remy a chunk of money.

Remy didn’t bother to count it. “Thanks, homme.” He shoved it in his pocket. He was acutely aware of Johnny’s eyes on him. He looked, instead, at the sky.

* * *

“Why so glum?” Logan asked at dinner.

Remy picked at his food, rolling around a chunk of meat on his plate. “Tomorrow we head back tu N’Orleans.”

Johnny’s head snapped up. “No,” he whispered.

“Yes,” said Remy, not looking at him. He pushed the chunk of meat around. “Ya need tu go back home, mon-- …ami.”

Johnny shook his head. “No I don’t! It’s fine! I can stay!”

Remy turned his gorgeous head away.

“Remy,” Johnny pleaded.

“You need the ransom that bad?” Logan asked, one eyebrow raised.

Remy glanced at Johnny. “..Ah don’ even wan’ th’ ransom anymore.”

Johnny clutched at Remy’s sleeve. “Then forget about it!”

Remy stood. “Ya need tu go back tu your kingdom!” he shouted. The room fell silent. All eyes were on them.

“No I don’t!”

“Yes, ya do.” Remy threw his napkin down. “Ya need tu take responsibility, an’ fix your kingdom.”

“But I can’t fix it! My parents are still king and queen, and my sister would be way better at it anyways.”

“They’re probably worried sick about you!”

“I don’t care!” Johnny threw down his napkin and stood chest-to-chest with Remy. Remy backed away a half-step. Johnny grabbed him by the arms. “Don’t you get it?! I _love_ you! I want to spend the rest of my _life_ with you! If you take me back there—” Johnny broke off, a lump in his throat crowding out his voice.

Remy’s hands slowly came up to touch Johnny’s arms. The look in his eyes was absolutely heartbreaking. “Homme… Dis was nevah mean’ tu be.”

Hot tears sprang to Johnny’s eyes. “Yes it was! I don’t even believe in that fate bullshit but I knew the second I saw you that you were gonna change my life! I don’t know if I believe in love at first sight, or happily ever after, but dammit Remy, you make me want that!”

“Johnny..” Remy started.

Johnny shook his head, tears clouding his vision and rolling down his cheeks. “No! I don’t wanna hear it! I’d make a shitty-ass king, you said it yourself! I don’t wanna marry some princess for political reasons, I don’t wanna study boring-ass subjects and pretend to care when all the time, the only thing I can think about is you!”

“Johnny,” Remy gruffed, pain apparent in his eyes.

“Don’t make me go back there,” Johnny pleaded. Remy turned his face away. Panic rose in Johnny’s throat. “Remy!”

“…Ya gotta go home, homme.”

* * *

Susan paced the throne room, anxiety eating her gut. Her normally silky gold hair was slightly out-of-place, which for her meant she was in tatters. She wrung her sweaty hands over and over again, waiting for the verdict.

The skinny man in poofy pants bowed to her parents and exited the throne room, casting a sympathetic glance at Susan on his way out.

_That can’t be good._

She turned to her parents.

“There’s been no word of him,” the queen said, weary. “No one has seen your brother for the past month.”

“He’s not dead!” Susan protested. She _refused_ to believe that. Johnny had always been a pain in the ass, but he was the liveliest, most energetic pain in the ass she’d ever known. The thought of that light being snuffed out was unbearable.

“No one said he was dead,” replied the king, “But we must start planning accordingly…”

Susan blocked out the phrase ‘funeral plans’. Johnny was alive somewhere, somehow. She was sure of it. The blood thundering in her ears was pierced through by the word ‘marriage.’ “What?” she gasped.

“Your own marriage,” the queen repeated, “must take place soon, if we are to secure the throne. We need a male heir. You could provide us with one.”

Susan had always known this was her duty, but suddenly she felt so young, so unready. The thought of marrying someone and having children was stifling. For a split second, she suddenly understood why her brother had always played so fast and loose. But… it was her _duty._ She drew herself up proudly, although her insides were roiling. “Of course.”

* * *

The island had gone quiet, except for the gentle, repetitive sound of the surf crashing against the sand. The night breeze was cool and refreshing, the sand cool and soft. She inhaled deeply, taking in the coppery blood mingling with the salty sea breeze, the earthy scent of the sand, and the faint, dark green scent of seaweed. She opened her eyes. The sky was silky black velvet, dotted with stars, burning billions of miles away. She wanted to reach out and grab them like marbles, roll the heat between her hands, combine them until their power shone too bright to look at, and finally, they exploded, obliterating everything in their path.

She sat up slowly, hyper-aware of the most minute shift in the air, ears attuned to even the quietest sound. She stabbed at a skittering off to her right, skewering a crab on her sword. She smiled at the still-wriggling corpse, lifting her sword so it slowly slid down the blade.

The sand was littered with corpses, the landscape scratched and scorched from the glorious battle. She hadn’t had that much fun in ages. Eagerness itched just under her skin, making the hairs on her arms stand on-end. All those weapons.

_All those weapons._

Of course the useless cowards had fled the scene. A cursory examination of the mutilated corpses strewn across the sand revealed three missing faces: the faces of the three men she most wanted to see.

The Leviathan, _glorious, beautiful Leviathan_ , was still anchored near shore.

She climbed aboard and searched the deserted ship for signs of life.

Aside from the gentle creak of wood as the tide gently rocked the ship, and the quiet groan of wood under her soft footfalls, the ship was completely silent. She could hear her own breath whooshing through her nostrils, hear her own heartbeat echoing in her ears.

Her beloved ship was empty.

She wasn’t foolish enough to leave without a crew, nor was she foolish enough to stay on this island. There was a third option, a dangerous option.

She _loved_ danger.

She gathered an arsenal of weapons, strapping them all over her body. Dressed all in black, her head covered so her blond curls wouldn’t catch the moonlight, she snuck back ashore and made her way along the shoreline, hugging the treeline as she went. The forest provided her camouflage. She was delighted to see not one, but _two_ ships.

That foolish man with the white wig was worrying about something to a tall, dark man wearing an eyepatch. Her mouth curled into a sinister smile. That man was the key to finding her inventions.


	13. Chapter 13

Remy didn’t want to hear whatever Johnny had to say in regards to bringing him back to N’Orleans; his mind was made up. As much as he wished he could spend the rest of his life with Johnny, he knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. He wanted to do right by him, even if it meant tearing his own heart in two. And the right thing to do was bringing him back to his family, back to the kingdom that needed him. If his family loved Johnny half as much as he did, they must be crying their eyes out over him by now.

“You’re makin’ a mistake, Cajun,” Logan warned.

“Stuff it, homme. Ah ain’t in th’ mood.” He punched the sorry excuse for a pillow on the top bunk and made himself comfortable.

Logan settled into the chair across the room. Remy had asked Pepper to move his things to Logan’s room for the duration of the trip. Johnny had begged and cried, and every fiber of Remy's being wanted to stop and give in, but he couldn’t. He had to do this.

Remy had never been concerned with the ‘right’ thing to do until he met Johnny. It had never mattered; what mattered was money, and how to get it without being caught. And then suddenly he met this boy who had set his world on fire, and he was seeing everything in a new light. He’d changed so much in the past month.

He didn’t know how Johnny could claim to love him; Johnny didn’t know who Remy used to be, much less the man he’d become. Even _Remy_ didn’t really know the man he’d become. It seemed he was surprising himself more and more often lately. And it was all because of Johnny.

“Your mood’s been awful strange lately,” Logan mused.

“Ah tol’ ya, Ah don’ wanna hear it.” Remy pulled the pillow over his ears.

“You sure your thinking hasn’t been compromised?”

“Ah said tu stuff it, homme!” Remy snapped.

Logan chuckled quietly. “Well,” he said, “isn’t that interesting.”

Remy didn’t _care_ what Logan found interesting. He just needed him to shut up and leave Remy alone.

Mercifully, Logan was quiet the rest of the night. He left sometime later, presumably to stalk about the deck and have a midnight smoke or the like. Remy didn’t care. At least he was finally alone.

Yet despite the silence, he couldn’t sleep. His eyes seemed glued open.

No matter how he tossed and turned, the bed felt like rocks underneath a thin layer of fabric. His heart ached for something he couldn’t have.

Somewhere past midnight, Remy resigned himself to another sleepless night.

* * *

There was no one on-deck. She waited a few minutes until she was sure, ears attuned to detect the slightest shift in sound. All she heard, though, was the gentle toss of the surf, the quiet creak of wood, and the slight rustle of palm trees in the breeze.

She waded into the water and scrambled aboard the silent ship. Some idiot was sleeping in the crow’s nest. He’d never be the wiser that she was there. She grinned at the thought, careful not to let her teeth show- they might glint in the moonlight and give her away.

She crept into the bowels of the ship, down hallways and past rooms undoubtedly filled with its sleeping tenants. She hugged every wall, darted through every doorway, feet falling softer than a cat’s. The thrilling air of danger had her hairs prickling. What a delicious feeling.

Surely enough, in the storage compartment near the bottom of the ship, rested stacks and stacks of beautiful, delicious inventions, each one capable of deadly and twisted damage.

 _I wonder what this one does._  She picked it up with a grin.

* * *

Johnny couldn’t sleep either.

His room felt so empty without him, and he couldn’t figure out for the life of him what he’d done wrong. He combed over and over every moment they’d spent together, every glance they’d ever shared, every touch, every word. He’d been so sure Remy felt the same way.

H was _still_ pretty sure Remy felt the same way. But he couldn’t explain why this was happening, why Remy had switched rooms and insisted he was going back to New Orleans.

According to Pepper, they’d be there by tomorrow night.

He only had _one day_ left with Remy, and one day would never be enough. No amount of time with Remy could ever be enough. He’d just barely started getting to know him; there was so much more to learn, and he wanted to know all of it. He wanted to know every stupid little thing about Remy- his favorite song, his favorite time of day, which way he liked his fish cooked. He wanted to see Remy’s blissed-out expression right after they kissed, wanted to see him sleepy and cranky first thing in the morning, or tired and dazed right before he fell asleep, wanted to watch the sun catch the reds in his hair, or the candlelight illuminate the reds in his eyes, wanted to hear the deep, rich sound of his laugh, watch the corners of his eyes crinkle with every smile— he wanted all of that, every day for the rest of his life.

The way Remy looked at him couldn’t have been a lie. The way he _kissed_ him— Johnny’s fingers touched his lips. He could still taste their last kiss.

How could something so right… be wrong?

It didn’t make sense.

He’d long since stopped caring whether it was morally right for a man to love another man. If he was a sinner, so be it. He’d rather burn in hell with Remy than spend eternity in heaven without him.

Going back to Louisiana was like a death sentence. His parents would never let him marry another man, much less a wanted thief, a renegade.

And on top of that, Remy was going to be charged with treason for kidnapping him.

Remy could be _killed_.

Johnny had no idea what he was going to do, but he stayed up all night trying to figure out a way to _not_ let that happen.

* * *

Her eyes sprang open. She’d slept behind a stack of crates, curled into a tiny ball. The shift was nearly imperceptible, but she felt it nonetheless: _the ship was moving._

She grinned.

The door to the room quietly moaned as the rusty hinges shifted; the door swung open, and into the room stepped a man. She couldn’t see _which_ man, from behind her stack, but it mattered little as long as he was in and out quickly.

His footfalls treaded around the room with quiet confidence, checking each stack in turn. She could feel the energy radiating off of him. It seemed she wasn’t the only one interested in the potential of these weapons.

The man turned and exited the room, door moaning shut behind him.

She was left alone.

She waited several minutes before unrolling from her crouch behind the stack of crates and silently springing to her feet.

Each one of these weapons had the potential to take down the entire ship.

She just had to figure out which ones.

* * *

Remy avoided Johnny for the duration of their return trip to New Orleans. He didn’t emerge from below-deck until they weighed anchor just outside the city. His expression was grim and resigned.

“Remy!” Johnny exclaimed, relieved to finally see him again. His mind was racing with half-formed thoughts. He hadn’t slept a wink last night, and he still wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to save that beautiful neck from the noose, but damn if he wouldn’t die trying.

“Don’ act so happy tu see meh, homme,” Remy warned. He turned Johnny roughly and bound Johnny’s wrists behind his back before he could register what was happening.

“Remy?”

“Don’ call me tha’.” Remy wrapped a handkerchief around Johnny’s mouth.

“No! Remy wait, I--,” but Remy didn’t stop. He secured the handkerchief around the back of Johnny’s head, tying it tighter than he had last time and stuffing some cloth into Johnny’s mouth to muffle whatever he was trying to say. Johnny kept trying to say it anyway, but Remy just tugged him into the rowboat and roughly sat him down.

“Don’ make meh bind your legs as well,” Remy warned. The boat lowered into the water.

Johnny shook his head, eyes pleading.

Remy avoided his eyes and rowed them to shore.

Logan had exited ahead and was waiting for them. “You sure you know what you’re doing, Cajun?”

“De only righ’ thing Ah’ve evah done in mah life,” Remy replied, yanking Johnny to his feet.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” said Logan, “but I kinda doubt that.”

“Jus’ lead us tu th’ castle, homme.”

Johnny struggled all the way, trying to escape the rope binding his wrists, and the too-tight cloth stifling his words.

Remy's face remained impassive, gaze focused ahead.

* * *

They arrived at the castle just after nightfall. “Been nice knowing you,” Logan gruffed.

“Wish Ah could say th’ same,” Remy returned.

Remy stepped up to the castle gates, hand roughly guiding Johnny there by the small of his back. He waited for the castle guards to notice him. Once they did, their eyes widened. One of them shouted. The gates opened.

Remy glared at them, resigned to his fate, but determined to see Johnny safely returned to his family. He marched right through the castle doors, down the long red carpet to the throne room, with its marble pillars and vaulted ceilings, its lavish tapestries, its stained-glass windows. There was gold everywhere. Remy glared at the excess, recalling a lifetime of near-poverty, eased only by the transgression of being a thief.

He deserved this.

The king and queen’s mouths dropped open when Remy shoved Johnny towards them. “Here’s your precious prince,” he bit out. Giving him over felt like driving a giant thorn into his own heart. He must have shoved Johnny too hard, because Johnny landed on his knees with a grunt. Remy fought the impulse to reach for his shoulder and ask if he was okay.

“Johnny!” cried a beautiful blond woman in a sky-blue dress, the same color as Johnny’s eyes. Her hair was the same golden hue as Johnny’s hair. She knelt beside him and worked at the knot holding his gag in place.

“Sorreh fo’ keepin’ him from ya for so long,” Remy apologized, hating every word.

“Are you the one who stole him, then?” asked the queen, eyes wide, golden eyebrows drawn together. She looked like Johnny too.

Remy felt like the dirtiest scum of the bayou. “Ah—”

“Remy!” Johnny cried, free of his gag. He ran towards Remy threw his arms around his neck, holding him tightly. Remy opened his mouth again, filled with resolve, but Johnny cut him off, turning to his parents. “I ran away!” he shouted.

Everyone stared at Johnny, stunned.

Johnny turned, as though trying to shield Remy with his own body. “It’s true.” He looked from the king, to the queen, to his sister, lowering his voice and letting the words sink in. “I didn’t want to get married. I didn’t even want to be king." Johnny paused, his words echoing through the throne room. His grip tightened infinitesimally on Remy's shoulders. "I don’t know who attacked our carriage. All I know is I heard someone attack the driver, and I ran away.”

Johnny was trying to cover for him. Remy closed his eyes. This wasn’t right. “Ah was th’ one who—”

“-found me,” Johnny interrupted, voice strong. “I was wandering around the bayou, with _no_ idea where I was going, and this guy found me.” Johnny was lying so casually, even Remy almost believed him. “-Heck,” Johnny added with a slight laugh, “I prob’ly would’ve been eaten by a gator if he hadn’t rescued me. He was nice enough to take me in and give me food, and a place to sleep.” He sounded chastised at this next part: “I wouldn’t tell him for the longest time who I was. But when he finally saw a poster with my face and asked if I was the prince, I had to admit it.” Johnny sighed, shoulders slumping in shame. “I didn’t want to come back. He pretty much made me.” He cast a heartbreakingly fond look at Remy. “If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t even be here.”

“…Ah had tu bring ya back, homme,” Remy told him quietly, hoping he’d grasp his meaning.

Johnny nodded, still searching his eyes.

“We owe you a great deal of money, then,” said the queen, rising from her throne.

“Ah don’ want th’ money,” Remy said even quieter, searching Johnny’s eyes.

The queen faltered.

“What is it you _do_ want then, my boy?” asked the king, brows deeply furrowed.

Remy knew what he wanted to ask for, but he knew that was only Johnny’s to give. He broke contact with those beautiful blue eyes and instead fixed on Johnny’s parents. “Ah’ve lived a hard life. An’ Ah’m not de only one. Your kingdom is in shambles, an’ all aroun’ ya dere are people stahvin’ in de streets while ya live in luxury.”

The king pondered this. “What is it they need?”

Remy shrugged. “Basic things, mon ami. A home ova their heads, food tu eat. Dey don’ need much, but it’s appallin’ how little they _do_ have.”

The king nodded. “…I’ll keep that in mind.”

It wasn’t a promise, but Remy didn’t want to push it.

“You want nothing for yourself?” the queen pressed.

Remy’s eyes strayed over to Johnny again. Johnny’s eyes pleaded with him. “Ya have tu marry a princess, homme,” Remy said quietly.

“I don’t want to!” Johnny objected loudly. “I want to marry _you!”_

The princess froze. She met Remy’s eyes, her own wide with shock and amazement.

“Las’ time Ah checked,” Remy returned quietly, “Ah wasn’ a princess.”

“I don’t care!” Johnny shouted. He brought his hands up to cup Remy’s face. Quieter, he said, “I’ve never felt about _anyone_ the way I feel about you!”

Remy gently covered one of Johnny’s hands with his own. “Ah know, mon am— Ah know,” he breathed, cutting off his endearment.

“Then _stay with me!”_ Johnny hissed, grip tightening on Remy’s face, pulling him closer.

Someone delicately cleared their throat. Johnny and Remy turned their attention to the queen, who was lowering a pale fist from her mouth where, presumably, she’d just coughed into said fist. She sent them both a curiously warm, guarded look. “It appears as though you’ve… developed feelings for each other,” she said carefully.

“We have,” Johnny stated, shielding Remy with his body again. Remy could tell exactly what expression was on Johnny’s face just by noting the angle of his chin, jutted up in defiance. That knowledge caused a tiny smile to bloom across his own face.

“Then I’m afraid there’s nothing for it,” the queen said, drawing herself up authoritatively. “For all intents and purposed, Jonathan Lowell Spencer Storm was never found. He has been stripped of his birthright as heir to the throne. But of course,” she added with a slight twinkle in her eye, “he is more than welcome to come back to visit.”

Johnny’s face split into a grin. He rushed towards his mother and embraced her. “Thanks, mom.”

His mother patted him on the back and said something Remy couldn’t hear. Johnny nodded. The queen sent Remy and enigmatic smile as Johnny rushed back to him. “You are free to do whatever you like,” she informed the ex-prince.

Johnny wrapped his arms tightly around Remy and buried his face in the crook of his neck. Tears dampened Remy’s skin. He closed his eyes and held the— _Johnny._ He held Johnny.

* * *

Logan raised an eyebrow when Johnny and Remy exited the castle, grinning like lovesick idiots. “We’ve been banished,” Remy explained cheerfully.

“Mmm,” Logan hummed. “Avoided the noose, did ya?”

Johnny drew his arms tighter around Remy. “Don’t even _say_ that!”

Logan’s eyebrow notched up higher. He stubbed out the remains of his cigarette with the toe of his boot.

“Why’d ya wait outside for us, mon ami?”

“Wanted to know how things turned out,” Logan gruffed.

Johnny grinned, his arms around Remy’s waist, his cheek resting on Remy’s shoulder. “I’m not a prince anymore,” he explained cheerfully.

Logan’s eyebrow was raised as high as it could go.

“We can be togethah now,” Remy said, mostly to Johnny.

Johnny’s eyes softened more than a marshmallow over a campfire. “We can!” he professed, pulling Remy into a very mushy hug.

Logan could practically smell the pheromones they were radiating. It was sickening. “What’re you gonna do now?”

“Don’t know,” Johnny confessed, face mostly buried against Remy, hugging him tightly.

“We gotta get outta th’ kingdom,” Remy said quietly. “We’ve been banished, until things blow ovah.” There was a softness to his voice Logan had never heard before.

“Lucky for you,” Logan rejoined, “I happen to know a ship headed outta New Orleans tomorrow.”

Johnny grinned into Remy’s collarbone. Remy grinned into Johnny’s hair.

Logan averted his eyes because he wasn’t in the mood to re-taste his dinner. “Move it, lovebirds. Or the ship’s gonna leave without ya.”

* * *

They were exhausted when they finally reached the ship, but not exhausted enough to fall asleep before kissing each other as soon as their bedroom door was closed, holding each other close, gently removing each other’s shirts as they kissed their way to the lower bunk, where Remy laid Johnny down and kissed him with all the emotion he’d been holding back. His tongue stroked silent promises into Johnny’s mouth. His chest anchored Johnny in place. Johnny caressed Remy’s tongue with equal warmth, equal reverence. His hands slowly traveled up Remy’s back, cradling his spine, pressing him closer.

“I love you,” Johnny whispered when his mouth was freed. Remy pressed soft kisses along Johnny’s jawline.

“Ah love ya too,” Remy replied quietly, nuzzling the corner of Johnny’s jaw.

Johnny let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh. Remy could feel him smiling. “I’m falling asleep,” Johnny confessed.

“So fall asleep,” Remy murmured, kissing the spot just below Johnny’s ear.

“I don’t want to,” Johnny protested, hugging Remy tighter.

Remy smiled against Johnny’s neck. “Ah’m not goin’ anywhere,” Remy promised.

Johnny’s fingers tightened on Remy’s shoulder.

Remy raised his head and gently stroked the side of Johnny’s face. “Ah promise.” He kissed Johnny softly. “Ah’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“You’ll be here when I wake up?”

“Ah’ll be here as long as ya want meh.” Remy slowly rubbed their noses together until he felt Johnny relax.

He pressed one more kiss to Johnny’s lips just as his breathing started to even out. Johnny felt asleep with a slight smile tugging his lips.

“Je t'aime,” Remy whispered, even though he knew Johnny wouldn’t hear it. He settled next to Johnny, arms wrapped securely around him in the too-small bed. He watched Johnny sleep until his eyes refused to stay open anymore. He whispered it one more time before he fell asleep. Johnny subconsciously snuggled closer. Remy smiled.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: referenced past rape
> 
> This chapter contains NSFW material

“I’m so glad I found you,” Peggy confessed softly just as Angie was waking up the next morning. Their clothes were still strewn about the room from their bout of lovemaking last night.

Angie smiled and rolled towards her. “Same to you, English.”

Peggy grinned and closed her mouth when Angie leaned in to kiss it. She loved the way Angie threaded her fingers through her hair, loved the sweet-and-sour taste of her mouth first thing in the morning. She loved the softness of her skin, the way their bodies fit together. Angie’s smaller breasts cushioned against her own, still bare from last night.

“Never woulda guessed you were such an animal in bed, Peg!” Angie teased.

Peggy rolled her eyes. “Oh, you enjoyed it.”

“Never said I didn’t!” Angie returned with a grin, eyes gleaming. She pulled Peggy closer, caging one of Peggy’s bare legs between her own. Angie was already warm and damp.

“Who’s the animal now?” Peggy teased.

“Mmm, still going with ‘you’,” Angie purred, rocking against Peggy’s thigh and pulling her in for a warm, leisurely kiss.

Peggy sighed appreciatively and positioned herself so she could gain some friction against Angie’s silky-smooth thigh. Their kissing grew more heated. Hands roamed.

Peggy kissed along Angie’s jaw.

Angie kissed along Peggy’s neck.

Soft gasps filled the air, followed by soft sighs.

“We’re going to be late for breakfast again,” Peggy whispered, smiling.

“It’s better cold anyway.”

* * *

Steve’s eyes drifted open. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of the sight of waking up next to Bucky. Bucky’s hair was sleep-tossed, his reddened lips partially open. Soft snores rumbled in his chest. Steve pressed a warm kiss between Bucky’s pectorals, delighting in the soft tickle of Bucky’s chest hair against his nose. Bucky snorted a little and shifted in his sleep. Steve smiled and kissed Bucky’s chest again, a little lower. He could tell by the minor shifts in his breathing that Bucky was waking up. He just kept kissing down Bucky’s torso, lingering a little longer each time, gradually adding more and more tongue, his dick twitching to life.

He nuzzled Bucky’s happy trail and pressed kisses lower and lower, mouthing at the front of Bucky’s underpants. Bucky’s dick grew hard next to his cheek. Steve mouthed at the base, wetting the fabric with his tongue. He dragged his nose from root to tip and nuzzled the head. A little bead of pre-cum leaked through the fabric. Steve licked at the bead, flattening his tongue and licking at the head until the fabric was soaked through. Bucky groaned.

“You gonna tease me all morning?” Bucky mumbled sleepily, “Or are you gonna follow through on that?”

Steve smirked. “You want me to?” he said low in his throat, meeting Bucky’s eyes through his eyelashes in a way he _knew_ drove Bucky crazy.

“What do you think, punk?” Bucky pressed Steve’s face against his dick.

Chuckling, Steve slid his thumbs beneath the fabric and slowly, he edged Bucky’s underpants down his hips, kissing every inch of newly revealed skin.

“Suck my dick, dammit!” Bucky grabbed Steve’s head and pushed it insistently against his dick.

“Ask nicely,” Steve taunted.

Bucky rolled his eyes. _“Please_ suck my dick, dammit!”

Steve chuckled. “That’s better.”

“No, it would be _better_ if you’d get my dick in your damned _mouth_.”

“Someone cranky this morning?” Steve teased, running his finger up the underside of Bucky’s dick.

“Someone would be a lot _less_ cranky if you’d suck his _dick._ ”

Steve sighed, pretending this was some sort of hassle. “Well… If you insist.” He pulled Bucky’s dick towards him and open-mouth kissed the head. Bucky writhed beneath him, gripping the bedsheets.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed as Steve started bobbing his head up and down, sucking harder on his way up, always dragging his tongue insistently against the underside _right_ where he was most sensitive, “Ah god, _fuck_.”

Steve loved dragging expletives out of Bucky. The more he swore, the better. Steve knew he was _really_ driving Bucky crazy when he couldn’t think of anything beyond ‘fuck’, ‘Steve’, and ‘oh fuck, _Steve!’_ He worked Bucky’s dick with his mouth until Bucky was doing just that.

“Want you to fuck me,” Bucky mumbled, “Wanna feel you inside me.”

Steve paused. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded slowly, dizzy already from Steve’s ministrations.

It had become an unspoken rule between the two that Bucky always topped, and never the other way around, because of what had happened aboard the Kraken. Neither ever talked about it. Steve had brought it up once, and Bucky had shut him down. Steve frowned. “You sure?”

“Fuck me,” Bucky pleaded, lifting his ass off the bed and spreading his legs.

Cautiously, Steve lubricated a finger. “You sure, babe?” He circled the finger delicately around Bucky’s hole.

Bucky kept nodding, expression pleading.

Steve kept stroking, gentle, sensual, careful not to even remotely echo what they did to him—what they made Steve watch them do to him—

Bucky pressed against Steve’s finger, whining, “Come _onnn!”_

Steve gently pushed his finger inside Bucky. Bucky grunted. Steve froze. Bucky rolled his eyes and urged Steve to “Keep going!” so he did. Carefully, gently, he pushed one finger in and out of Bucky’s hole. And only when Bucky was begging for it did he add another finger. He didn’t add a third finger until Bucky explicitly told him to- “If you don’t add a third finger, I swear to God, Steve, I’ll- ohgod yes, _yes_ ” –and by that point he was babbling, so ecstatic to be fingered by his best friend/ lover that Steve didn’t bother adding a fourth. Instead, he sought out Bucky’s prostate.

He knew he’d found it when Bucky suddenly jerked and let out a loud, surprised _“Auh! –_ Oh, _fuck_ Stevie, _mmmm!”_

Steve kept stroking that spot. Bucky kept writhing, breath pitching higher and higher, sputtering out expletives interspersed with Steve’s name. “’m gonna come, ‘m gonna come, _fuck_ , Steve, ‘m gonna come, _stop!!”_

Steve stopped abruptly, heart pounding, terrified that he’d done something to trigger Bucky.

Panting, his face a mask of pure pleasure, Bucky pleaded, “Don’t wanna come yet… Want you to fuck me…”

“Are you sure, Buck?”

“Yes I’m sure!” Bucky practically shouted.

Cautiously, Steve lubed himself up. Bucky was on his back, so maybe it was okay. Maybe it wouldn’t make him think of— Steve positioned himself between Bucky’s legs and gently pressed the head of his dick against Bucky’s hole. “Are you sure?”

“Get your dick inside of me before I sit on it myself!”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yes _sir._ ” He pushed in.

Bucky stiffened, back arching off the bed. His eyebrows came together _hard._ His mouth dropped open.

Steve watched Bucky’s face carefully as he pushed all the way in. “Bucky,” Steve said, voice strained, “Bucky I’m here.” He leaned down to caress Bucky’s face. The pressure around his dick was so warm and perfect, but he needed to make sure Bucky was okay. “Buck, it’s me. It’s Steve.”

Bucky’s breathing was harsh, his eyes screwed shut tight.

Steve cupped his face with both hands. “Bucky… Buck!”

“Steve,” Bucky whined.

“That’s right, Buck.” Steve pressed their noses together. “It’s me.”

“Steve,” Bucky pleaded, tears springing to his eyes. “What—Steve,” he pleaded, voice broken, tears leaking out the corners of his tightly closed eyes. “What have you done with Steve?”

“I’m here, Bucky,” Steve said as steadily as he could. “I’m here. I’m Steve. It’s me. I’m right here, Bucky.”

“Steve!” Bucky sobbed, knuckles going white on the bedsheet. His metal arm whirred uneasily.

Steve cursed himself because he _knew_ this was a bad idea. Slowly, he pulled out. “Bucky, I’m right here.” He took his weight off Bucky and rolled to the side so Bucky wouldn’t feel trapped. “Bucky— Buck, _open your eyes_ ,” Steve pleaded, cupping his face.  

Bucky shook his head, grasping Steve’s hands too tightly, tears leaking down his face. “Steve,” he rasped.

“Bucky,” Steve repeated. He kissed Bucky’s lips softly. Bucky stiffened. Steve kissed him insistently, pouring out every ounce of love he had. He parted his lips against Bucky’s, caressing Bucky’s bottom lip with his tongue. Gradually, he felt Bucky start to relax. He pulled back and looked into his eyes.

“Steve?”

“Yeah.” Steve nearly cried from relief. “I'm here.”

“Steve,” Bucky breathed, pulling him close. They held each other for a long moment, reveling in each other’s presence.

“Goddammit,” Bucky muttered after a while. “I fucked that up, didn’t I..”

Steve shook his head emphatically. “No!” he insisted. “No,” he said, more gently, caressing Bucky’s face. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

Bucky sighed and dragged his flesh hand across his face. “Sorry I’m so fucked up.”

“You’re not!” Steve insisted. “You’ve just been through a lot. We all have. –God, Buck, I’m so sorry we left you alone on that ship. You’ve gotta believe me, the second I was taken away from you, the _only_ thing on my mind was finding a way back to you!”

“I know,” Bucky said quietly, holding Steve’s left hand with his right one. His throat convulsed. “I know,” he whispered.

“I love you, Bucky.”

“I know.” Bucky drew Steve closer and sealed their lips in a heartfelt kiss. “-I love you too.”

* * *

“Nobody move!”

Dottie’s arm was around Edwin Jarvis’s neck, holding him in a chokehold. Her eyes were bright, her smile twisted. In her other hand, she held an orange fist-sized orb.

Natasha’s heart pounded. “Don’t kill him,” she said levelly.

“Kill him!” Dottie replied incredulously. “Why would I do that?”

“What is it you want?” asked Commander Fury, sounding none too thrilled at the prospect of giving Dottie whatever-it-was.

“I want all of Stark’s weapons,” she replied.

“Well you’re not going to _get_ those weapons.”

“Oh?” Dottie asked, voice dangerously soft. “I’m not?” Her head cocked to the side.

Natasha’s blood ran cold. “Don’t,” she warned.

“Don’t what?” Dottie drew her arm tighter around Jarvis’s throat, choking him. “Oh!” she said, pretending to realize. “Don’t do _this?”_ She pressed a button. The orb in her hand glowed orange.

“Dottie, throw that overboard. It’s not too late.”

Dottie ignored her. “Huh.” She examined the glowing orb in her hand. “Isn’t that interesting?” She brought it right under Jarvis’s nose. He stared at it, cross-eyed, clearly terrified. She cocked her head to the side again. “I wonder what it does.”

“It’s a goddamn bomb,” said Fury. “What did you _think_ it is.”

Dottie smiled at the orb. “A _bomb_?”

“Dottie,” tried Natasha, voice shaking, “If you don’t throw that overboard, you’re going to destroy all of Stark’s weapons, and the man who can lead you to the rest of them.”

Dottie met her eyes with an eerily vacant stare.

There were only a few seconds left.

With a sudden burst of energy, Edwin Jarvis flung himself out of Dottie’s arms and snatched the orb out of her hands. He hurled it over the side of the ship.

Outraged, Dottie chased after the weapon. She dove overboard just as there was a sudden distortion in the air. A shockwave pushed their ship to the side, tilting dangerously. Water sloshed onto the deck over the submerged railing as the ship was pushed away from the site of the explosion. Someone screamed.

And then suddenly it was over.

The ship righted itself, rocking back and forth as the tilt minimized with each back-and-forth swing. Water sloshed across the deck. The shockwave disappeared. The sea became eerily calm.

And Dottie was nowhere to be found.

“Well,” said Jarvis, straightening his jacket. “Thank goodness for that.”

“What was that?” barked Fury.

Jarvis made an odd face. “A… bomb, of sorts.”

“I gathered that much.” Fury stepped closer. “What does it _do?”_ He glared at Jarvis with his one eye.

“It… explodes,” Jarvis said lamely. At the look Fury gave him, he added, “And when it does, it takes a large area with it. We were lucky not to be caught in the blast, otherwise this whole ship would have been crushed, and us along with it.”

Fury glared at Jarvis a moment longer before straightening, hands clasped behind his back. “Only three of the vaults Stark made have been plundered,” he announced to his crew. “With weapons like _that_.. We need to find the other four before someone else does.”


	15. After-Credits Scene

A large blue merman with ridged skin and a large black tailfin sat on a throne of rock and ice. His red eyes glared at the messenger before him. "What do you mean, killed?"

The messenger's expression was grim. "Your ambassador and his entourage disappeared mere hours ago, en route to King Odin. They are rumored to have perished in a blast caused by great power, the likes of which we have not seen for centuries."

"This is a clear act of war!" roared the merman at his side.

"What should we do, King Laufey?" asked his messenger.

King Laufey drew himself up to his full, fearsome height. “If Odin does not seek to keep the peace,” Laufey ground out in his gravelly voice, “then who are we to lie around like minnows, waiting to be slaughtered?”

There was only one option, really. The courtroom held its breath for the King to finish his declaration.

“It is time we reclaimed our power.”

The courtroom erupted with roars.


End file.
